


Across the Way

by andprosper



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-01-13
Updated: 2016-10-06
Packaged: 2018-03-07 10:04:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 50,097
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3170786
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/andprosper/pseuds/andprosper
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>As part of an undercover assignment for the Aurors, Harry Potter has to pretend to be a Muggle, which includes living in a flat in Muggle London. Of course, fate would have it that he would be living across from a hot blond who likes to wank in his bath. Trying to escape the bad memories of Malfoy Manor, including the night his aunt Bellatrix cut off his leg, Draco Malfoy finally found a place to live on his own - a flat in Muggle London. And wasn't he lucky that the dark haired man across the way happened to catch him wanking one night?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Bath

**Author's Note:**

> Mostly a multi-chaptered PWP (there might be a little rogue plot here and there).
> 
> For now, trying to update once a week. Usually updates Mondays!

Someone really should have told Draco about Muggle flats. He was going to go back in his life, look at everyone who had the means to tell him and curse them so their bollocks fell off. If the individual in question was female… well, let’s be frank, he’d only ever really had Pansy and she was not selfish enough to keep the information to herself. Not about this.

 

This had not even been his first option. At all. His mother and father had chosen to live in the Malfoy Manor and Draco had joined them. At first, it had been okay. He went back to school for an eighth year (which was less okay, but it was over now and he preferred not to think about it). But he’d spent three-quarters of the year at Hogwarts. He learned very quickly after that being at the Malfoy Manor was not good for his health. While his parents had spent such a long life there and could remember things as “this is the room where Draco was born” or “this is the room where Draco was conceived” (and he hadn’t wanted to know that latter one, by the way), Draco could only remember “the room where your father proposed” as “the room where I saw one of my professors get eaten by a giant snake” and “the room where I first met your mother” as “the room where aunt Bellatrix sliced off my leg.”

 

That wasn’t the worst thing he’d come out of the war with – or, rather, without. His reputation and Dark Mark were much more of a problem than missing a leg. But not many people knew about the latter. After Potter had escaped Malfoy Manor, Bellatrix had flown into a rage, throwing dark curses at Draco’s back as he tried to run away. She blamed him for not identifying Potter when he’d come in. A slicing curse had caught his right leg, severing his lower leg from his body. Limbs severed by dark magic couldn’t be regrown. His mother and father had rescued him, forcing Sleeping Draught down his throat so they could heal what they could. They’d had to use dark magic themselves to fix the jagged cut that Bellatrix’s magic had made. They’d cut away the hanging muscle and skin and Draco had woken up with a healed leg, though missing just below the knee.

 

He wore a false leg, of course. Not like the one Mad Eye Moody had worn – but one that looked real. And certainly not like the fake hand Pettigrew had. Not after what had happened. He could read as much as he would have liked about how magic limbs worked and his mother and father could tell him of all the safe magic limbs, but they hadn’t been the ones to find Pettigrew in the cellar.

 

Before returning to the public eye, he learned how to walk with it. Thankfully, he could count the people who knew about the incident on both hands. His mother and father, of course. All the Death Eaters who knew were either dead or imprisoned. He was particularly pleased Bellatrix was among them. He’d heard it was Molly Weasley who killed her and he’d warmed up to the thought of the woman significantly. A few of his close friends knew – Pansy, Goyle, and Blaise. And… Neville Longbottom due to an accident.

 

Draco managed with that just fine. He saw both a physical Healer and a Mind Healer once a month. But it didn’t manage to change how he felt about his childhood home, where he’d almost lost everything.

 

Between the night terrors and Draco’s inability to go into half the rooms in their home without feeling nauseated, they all decided it would be best for him to move out. His mother, of course, had offered for them to all leave, but Draco desired independence. Maybe less time around his broken family would mean a less broken Draco. There wasn’t much logic behind it, but the result was Draco searching for a place to live. He shouldn’t have been surprised that every wizard landlord and realtor shut the door in his face, no matter how much was offered. His parents offered to pull some strings on some old family ties to get him a place, but Draco simply didn’t want to buy from anyone his parents still held power with.

 

Finally, he decided, he had to look into how the Muggle world lived. He converted his Galleons into Muggle paper money at Gringotts and went on his search. A countryside home would be ideal, since it was most like his previous living situation. But he attended one showing and realized how much work it would actually be. Without the spells for upkeep, he would have to do it himself until he could get the entirety of the place warded and in working order. Not an option. Draco didn’t want a project – he wanted somewhere to get a peaceful night’s sleep as soon as possible.

 

So, he sat up in his bed one night and thought about his predicament. No one would sell to him in the Wizarding World. Not robes, not food, not potions, not brooms, not any sort of service. He wouldn’t fight that. It was deserved. But it was also inconvenient. But Muggles didn’t know who he was. And there were sophisticated Muggles, he’d learned quickly enough. Their clothes weren’t as terribly uncomfortable as they looked. In fact, he’d rather liked wearing them when he’d gone to look at houses. Muggles had clothes and food and methods of transportation, and they didn’t have any qualms about working for Draco.

 

It might be nice, as well, to be close to all of it. And to be close to work at St. Mungo’s (working in the only ward where people could stand him – the Janus Thickey Ward). That had been a feat he was certain would only be once in a lifetime, but he would leave that story to another day. All and all, what it was pointing to was to getting a flat in Muggle London. He would have to forget flying, of course, but he could still ride his broom when he went to visit his parents. But that didn’t matter much. Not when he wouldn’t be able to get a replacement if his broom broke or just wore out.

 

Considering all that he’d heard about Muggles and flats and London, he expected horrendous squalor. If he could just find something liveable, he would be satisfied at this point. After over a year of searching, Draco’s standards had reduced considerably and he just wanted to be in a different bed by the end of the week.

 

So, he’d marched into the first Muggle realtor office he saw and matter-of-factly set out his parameters. The woman’s head practically spun when he said he wanted to see the nicest flat they had.

 

The outside of the building wasn’t terribly impressive – all shimmering glass. And it was a bit shorter than some of the surrounding buildings at about fourteen stories. The name of the place had “Luxury” in the title, so that was promising. There was a Muggle who stood outside in a red uniform who opened the door for them. Not bad, Draco mused inwardly. And the lobby was decorated in a dark, sleek mahogany. No tacky wallpaper or giant potted plants. The realtor led him into a small metal room and he felt furious and betrayed. He was about to berate her for taking him to such a small place. This was definitely not the best that could be offered by Muggles. But she pressed a light on the wall and the metal doors shut. He almost staggered when it started moving. Oh. It was a lift. Draco tried to shake off the embarrassment. They had lifts in the Ministry of Magic – but they certainly didn’t look like this one, in his defence. And his bar had been pretty low for what he expected of Muggle living conditions.

 

“I think you’ll like this one,” the American-accented realtor began as the lift doors opened. “It’s not the loft, but the building is in the area you wanted. It’s close to shopping districts and some lovely restaurants,” she led him to the end of a long hallway, fiddling with the keys in her hand. “One bedroom, one washroom. Fully furnished, so less work for you. The rooms are spacious with an open layout,” she unlocked the door at the end and pushed it open to let him in.

 

If this was Muggle squalor, Draco wasn’t sure he knew what opulence was anymore. The entryway was small, of course, with a streamlined design of deep-coloured wood. A chandelier – not of candles, but of orbs of light - hung above them and as Draco admired it, the realtor led him to the archway on the right. “This is the living room,” she held out her arm, inviting him along and he walked in. The floors were the same dark wood as the lobby and the entryway, with a plush rug in the centre. The far wall was entirely lined with floor to ceiling windows. It wasn’t at all like the layout or furnishings of his home. This was sophisticated and sleek. The white sofa was large enough to seat ten people, curved into a sort of semi-circle facing the wall of windows. There was a matching chaise on the other side, curved as well, giving the room a circular feel. The coffee table was oval with a glass top. The lights on the ceiling were orbs set into the ceiling along parallel lines. One wall had two empty bookshelves and a small nook lined with pillows.

 

“You have the dimmer here,” the woman touched a knob on the wall and rolled it under her painted fingernails so the lights in the room dimmed from a day-bright to a low, seductive light. “There are dimmers in every room,” she continued to explain and then walked forward to pick up a black box from the coffee table. She pressed a button on it and shades lowered from the top of the ceiling above the window. “And you have a remote for the shades in here and the bedroom. The kitchen is right behind you,” she indicated and he turned around to see a part of the room sectioned off by a half wall. The kitchen, like the living room, was rich, sophisticated, and spacious. He didn’t know what half the things did, but he was already imagining spending several hours figuring them out. He’d never wanted to make a meal for himself until this very moment. “The refrigerator is top of the line – lots of storage space.” She opened up the tallest metal box in the room, revealing a clean, white interior. He took her word that it was top of the line. “You have a gas stove, a dishwasher, and plenty of cabinet space. I, personally, love the island,” she indicated the counter in the centre of the room with chairs pulled up to one side. “You can eat here or over there,” she pointed to a small table with two chairs next to the window-wall. “Do you like cooking?”

 

“I’d like to learn,” Draco countered quickly.

 

“The bedroom is over here,” she walked away from the kitchen and back towards the entry where she slid a door open into the next room. The bedroom was just as large and gorgeous as the rest of the house, furnished just as tastefully. This room also had a wall lined with windows. “You’re on the corner here, so you get two completely different views. And you have the remote here as well,” she pointed to another black box by on the nightstand by the low, queen-sized bed. “But my favorite room here is the bathroom,” she smiled conspiratorially, as if she knew something Draco didn’t, and opened a regular door on her left. Draco expected to peer in, be moderately impressed (after all, it was just a loo), and begin the negotiations with her.

 

“Merlin,” Draco breathed as he looked in. Now, he’d grown up with some nice bathrooms. But this room was nearly as large as his dormitory room at Hogwarts. It was octagonal in shape half of the way, with the wood that decorated the floors on the walls here as well. The octagon was cut in half by the wall to his right being a floor to ceiling window. It was sectioned into one large middle window with two thinner windows beside it. All three had an off-white set of blinds with cream-coloured curtains pushed to the edges of the two thin windows. The bath was right underneath it – a large circle set into the floor. The bath matched the cream colour of the curtains and had a lip inset, so one could sit. Behind him he saw a small glass room with a faucet well above his head – a shower. A large counter with two sinks lined two of the sides of the octagon and he could see another sliding door that let to the toilet in a separate room.

 

“Who?” The realtor blinked.

 

“Nothing,” he brushed her off quickly.

 

“Well, the toilet is over there,” she pointed, “and you have a shower and the bath-“

 

“I want it.”

 

Draco didn’t spend long on negotiations with her. He wasn’t interested in haggling a price. He showed her his documentation from Gringotts, which was written specifically for Muggles, listing his assets, his credit, and that sort of thing. He assumed it was all correct because she was rather hasty to close the deal after reading through and after he told her he didn’t want to haggle, just pay the asking price.

 

His parents, of course, were torn. On one hand, they were glad he’d found a place, but he imagined they didn’t want him in a Muggle flat anymore than he’d wanted initially. His mother lessened considerably on her distaste when she saw it.

 

By the end of the week, just as he’d promised himself, he’d moved in completely and was ready to settle in for his first night in his own place.

 

One bookshelf was furnished with his own books from school and from his collection at the Manor. The other bookshelf remained empty save for the middle shelf, which he’d filled with Muggle cookbooks and two books on connecting Wizarding cooking and Muggle cooking. One told you how to spell your Muggle kitchen to be more Wizard-friendly. The other was an extremely helpful how-to for wizards about Muggle kitchens. It explained all the aspects in detail – what each piece of equipment was for and offered helpful suggestions and translations of Muggle cooking instructions.

 

Armed with a cookbook and cupboards bursting with Muggle food he’d never tried, Draco made his first attempt at Muggle cooking. It had been a moderate success – on one hand, he didn’t burn or undercook anything and he’d learned quite a bit about using the kitchen. On the other… the dish hadn’t been very good. He wasn’t deterred from cooking, but he couldn’t eat more than two bites. Feeling too sentimental to toss the food, he packaged it up and put it in the cold box for safekeeping. This was a very common thing among Muggles, he’d learned.

 

However, he was left with the problem of what to eat. He was hungry and he wasn’t sure he wanted to embark on another hour-long cooking attempt that might end in failure. It was then that a colourful piece of paper caught his eye near the telephone. The telephone and phone number apparently came with the flat. He’d found the piece of paper beside it the first day. It had a picture of delicious looking food announcing “delivery!”

 

Another learning experience, Draco supposed. He picked up the phone and held up the device. It seemed pretty intuitive – he knew how they were supposed to work and the phone was shaped so he knew where his ear and mouth were supposed to line up. He, very carefully, pressed the number buttons in the order they were on the piece of paper. There was a quiet ringing in the earpiece and Draco lined it up properly. He was rewarded with a person answering with the name of the business. “How can I help you?”

 

“I would like to order a pizza,” Draco began tentatively. He’d had one in Italy before and it had been delicious.

 

“What kind?”

 

“Um,” Draco stared at the pictures on the menu. They all looked good, but he decided to play it safe. “Cheese.” After successfully navigating through ordering a pizza with size and type of crust, even managing to remember his new address, Draco cleaned up the previous mess made while he waited on delivery.

 

Within the hour, Draco had gotten his food, which was unexpectedly delicious, eaten, and cleaned up. Being a Muggle wasn’t so bad, he decided. They had a lot of the conveniences of magic without magic. They couldn’t summon food, so they had it delivered. Don’t want to wash dishes? No problem. They had machines do it for you. A lot of it was slower, but Draco might just be able to get used to it.

 

Before going to bed, Draco decided he most wanted to try out the bath. He’d stocked up on soaps from home. He’d even bought new towels to match the bathroom. He shut off the lights to the kitchen and living room and walked into the bedroom. He set out his pyjamas and closed the blinds with his remote. Like magic, he thought with a smile. Just with a box instead of a wand. He stripped down and put on a plush robe, taking only his wand with him into the bathroom. He knelt down beside the bath and turned the knobs. He was pleasantly surprised to find the water was hot without magic.

 

After he poured his soaps in, adjusted the lighting to a very dim, romantic light, and sat his wand on the sink counter, he dipped his foot in and stared out at the view from the window. Someone really should have told him about Muggle flats, he mused. They were fantastic.

 

Draco knew he should drop the blinds and the curtains. That was what they were there for. But what would he look at if they were closed? He was enjoying his first night in the flat too much. He glanced at the building just across the street – it was taller than his and they were clearly living quarters with similar floor-to-ceiling windows as his building, but nearly all had their curtains closed or their lights off. It was almost midnight – no one could see him from below and the people in the building across the way were all tucked away in their own privacy. He could see bright flashing lights from behind a set of curtains, but that didn’t concern him. The only cause he might have for modesty was a room about one story up and slightly to the right. He could see the curtains were open and light was coming from a different room in the flat, but Draco figured he could risk it. After all, what were the odds that the occupant would come to the window and look directly at Draco’s bathroom within the next half an hour or so? They were probably getting ready for bed themselves – or they’d simply forgotten to turn off a light.

 

After the bath was full, Draco shucked his robe and carefully undid the sticking charm on his false leg, setting it a careful distance from the bath so it wouldn’t get wet, and was quick to slide into the hot water, despite that he’d reasoned no one would see him. Immediately, he dipped his head in the water and slicked his hair back, relaxing against the side. He closed his eyes and let his body go slack.

 

This was quite possibly the best night he’d had in the last five years. All night, he’d been worried about ruining his food or whether he might be seen in the bath. He hadn’t thought once about anything that happened during the war. He hadn’t felt afraid once – though he’d become quite distressed when he’d tried to decipher the difference between a boil and a simmer in the cookbook. But that was a novelty in itself. He hadn’t had the luxury to be concerned about something so trivial in a very long time. It was the start of the weekend and a new chapter in Draco’s life. And he felt good. Really good.

 

He opened his eyes and glanced around the bathroom. It wasn’t like anyone was here to walk in on him. And he was caring less and less about that stranger who might be awake in the opposite building. He carefully dropped his hands below the water and rested one hand on his stomach below his bellybutton. He didn’t move further than that as he considered what he wanted to think about. After all, such a wonderful evening deserved and equally wonderful fantasy. He didn’t want to finish his evening off with a quick wank over a faceless Quidditch player or a boyhood crush that he was no longer interested in.

 

Movement outside of the window caught his eye. He was too relaxed to become alarmed when he saw the resident of the flat across the street appear in the room. In fact, he might have just solved his problem.

 

The stranger was a young man – around Draco’s age, he would guess – and he’d just come from the bath. He was wearing nothing but a towel around his waist, and even though there was a bit of distance, Draco could make out plenty of detail. Warmth started to pool in his stomach as he watched the man’s extremely fit form as he walked in front of the window. He was searching for something, it seemed. And he was distracted enough that Draco could get an eyeful. He had dark hair and tanned skin. Draco could see the muscles in his arms and his gaze followed from the man’s broad shoulders down his chest, to his flat abdomen, and down to the dark trail of hair that disappeared under the infernal white towel.

 

Who needed a fantasy when you had that living across from you? Merlin, this day was just getting better and better.

 

He kept his eyes on his neighbour, hoping to get a flash of something better, as his fingers slid lower. He finally touched his prick, his pinky and ring finger sliding along underneath as his thumb stroked the top. He was going to take this slow. The heat in his stomach had already dropped into his groin. He stroked downwards leisurely, forefinger rubbing against the slit. His neighbour disappeared from view and he let out a small sigh of disappointment.

 

Well, he’d already started now, so he closed his eyes and tried to picture his new neighbour in his mind.  He thought about inviting him over, showing him his Muggle flat, making a dinner for two (which would turn out much better), sitting together on the sofa and making out. Draco would straddle his lap, feeling their warm bodies pressed against each other, hard cock rubbing against Draco’s arse. He would feel stubble rake his fingertips as he touched his jaw. And maybe then Draco would invite him into his bathroom and they would strip each other down right in front of the bath and sink into the hot water.

 

And the hand running languidly over his erection wouldn’t be his own.

 

He gasped as he spread his legs further apart and started stroking his prick more feverishly. He opened his eyes, hoping to get an eyeful of his neighbour, but he got a lot more than he’d even dared to hope. The dark-haired man was leaning against his window, backlit by the light in the other room. He had his forearm braced against the glass and the towel had dropped to his feet. He was fisting his sizable cock furiously and he was looking right at Draco.

 

Draco was torn between being mortified and being incredibly aroused. His neighbour hadn’t yet noticed that Draco had caught him, so, struck by a bit of boldness, he figured he was going to put on a bit of a show. He rubbed his palms on the inside of his thighs, making sure the backs of his hands brushed his erection. He brought his fingers up to brush over his nipple and he let out an exaggerated moan, arching his back. The whole time, he made sure not to maintain his gaze on the man above. He let his eyes flutter shut periodically and occasionally catch the man in his line of vision to make sure he was still there and still thoroughly enthralled with what Draco was doing. That sort of power was heady and intoxicating.

 

He rolled his hips upward and bit his lip as he wrapped his hand around his erection, long fingers gliding across the pink flesh. This was quite possibly the most sensual thing he’d ever experienced – moaning and writhing for the entertainment of someone else. The more aroused he acted, the more aroused he felt himself become. The idea of someone touching themselves, rubbing their cock raw, coming just because they were watching Draco… Draco’s cock felt like it was going to burst, throbbing in his hand. He pulled himself out of the water, prick bobbing between his thighs, to give the voyeur a better view and to feel the heaviness in his hand as he got closer and closer to orgasm. The breeze of the slightly colder bathroom on his wet body wasn’t even enough to deter him.

 

Hot cum splashed against his chest as he came, making sure he had the most over the top orgasm he’d ever experienced for the good of his viewer. He threw his head back and moaned, his fingers slipping against the wet wood floor, the water of the bath splashing as he dropped back into it, daring to glance up at his friend. He was gone.

 

Draco huffed in anger, wondering if he’d missed his big finish. What was the purpose of art if no one was there to see it? More importantly, was this happy little accident a one-time thing or had Draco put on a good enough show his neighbour would be interested in trying to catch him on purpose?

 

You never know until you try.


	2. A Good Night's Sleep

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kink(s) for this chapter: object insertion

That night was the first time he’d slept for a solid eight hours since fifth year. He didn’t know if it was the new place, the energy spent on cooking, the delicious Muggle food, or his little rendezvous with the new neighbour. But he was not going to ruin it. He wanted another good night’s sleep. So, he spent the day studying his cookbooks intently, had a lunch of the leftover pizza – why wasn’t it as good? – and eagerly awaited the evening. He prepared dinner – this time it was pretty good. He wouldn’t say he was disappointed, but…. He was a little disappointed he wouldn’t be in the same routine as the night before. On the positive side, it was getting rid of one variable in his previous evening for what helped him sleep so well. And it was the least likely variable, if he was being honest.

 

The most uncontrollable variable was the one he was most excited for. He’d finished dinner earlier than the night before, so he pressed the button on his remote to lower the shades of the drawing room and got out his wand. He transfigured one of his decorative ornaments into something long and sleek. After he examined it to his satisfaction, he returned to his bedroom and sat it on the dresser with his wand. He peered out the window across the way. The neighbour was nowhere to be seen, but his lights were on. At least he was home – if he lived alone.

 

Draco felt giddy and nervous as he settled in to read a book on his bed – give the neighbour plenty of time to walk by and realize Draco was home. However, he had difficulty concentrating on the book, and he was growing annoyed that every time he glanced up, he didn’t see his neighbour. “Bastard,” he muttered under his breath. “I know you enjoyed it, so get your dick out and enjoy the show,” he hissed. Unfortunately, that was not some sort of magic summoning spell.

 

He pretended to read for about fifteen more minutes before closing the shades and walking back over to his dresser. He examined the object he’d created and then cast a lubricating spell on it (thank god for horny Slytherins telling each other about the most useful spells), realizing he wouldn’t be able to do it in the bathroom with the shades up. After all, he didn’t want to violate the Statute of Secrecy like this. That would certainly be embarrassing to explain. He also undid the sticking charm on his false leg, but didn’t remove it. It would stay on for a short walk without it, but he would never go out without it secured.

 

This time, he walked into the bathroom fully clothed, save for his bare feet. He put his wand down on the farthest countertop, which he didn’t think could be seen from the flat above, and turned the bath on. He glanced out the window and was disappointed to see the lights out in his neighbour’s flat. But the windows weren’t covered. It occurred to Draco that maybe the neighbour had gotten smarter. After all, if his lights were out, Draco wouldn’t be able to see him, but he would certainly be able to see Draco. He dimmed the lights enough that his bathroom wouldn’t be like a shining beacon, but his neighbour would see enough. But low enough, too, that he hoped the man wouldn’t be able to recognize him on the street.

 

Even if he didn’t have an audience tonight, he had convinced himself that there was the possibility he did. And he was going to perform as if he did. He turned off the bath once it was full and unbuttoned his shirt. When he reached the bottom button, he let his hand drop slightly and rub himself through his pants. He was already aroused at the thought of what he was doing – at what he was about to do. He let his shirt drop to the floor and undid his pants, letting those fall as well. Finally, he shoved his fingers under the waistband of his underwear and pushed those down. Undressing in Muggle clothes was a lot better than undressing in robes. At least for someone watching. More layers to unravel.

 

He picked up his new creation and set it by the bath. He sat on the edge and let one calf dip into the water, his hands removing his false leg and putting it aside as carefully as he’d undressed. He turned back to the bath and slowly sunk in to the water. He ran his wet hands through his hair and let his head fall back. One hand grazed over a pink nipple and he let his breath hitch in his throat, exaggerating every response he had to his own ministrations. His cock had already begun to stir and harden. He moved his hand up to run over his throat and then back down, back over his nipple, and down his abdomen. His fingers touched the tip of his cock and he ran them to the base, drawing out his erection centimetre by centimetre, torturously slow.

 

He hoped that cursed Muggle bloke was watching and enjoying himself because he brought his other hand to his lips, letting his fingers push past the soft skin. He licked at his fingers as if it was the most delicious candy in the world. Sucking on each individual digit like sugar quills. When they were wet, he dragged a line with his fingertips down his torso and guided them between his legs, both hands now fondling his cock.

 

Precum was getting lifted away by the warm water as soon as it leaked from the tip. “I hope you’re watching, neighbour boy,” he planned on muttering, but it came out more breathless sounding. He kind of liked the way it echoed in the bathroom. He felt his cheeks heat up a little when he realized he was talking to himself… but he was by himself. No one would know he was talking to himself unless the neighbour was watching. Well, he had low lighting, the right atmosphere, a strip tease… why not try talking to himself a little? “If you are…” No, no, he couldn’t do it. It was too weird. Maybe another time.

 

Trying to brush away the slight embarrassment he felt, Draco decided it was time to play with the toy he’d created. He’d never actually done this before. But it seemed like a good idea. He’d thought about trying it. Now was the perfect time. Would the neighbour be interested? Of course he would! He’d been interested in Draco’s mild show the night before.

 

But of course, now Draco wished he had thought to spell the thing a bit thinner. Looking at it was incredibly daunting as he thought about shoving the thing in his arse. He glanced up once more to see if his neighbour might be there, but was greeted with the same dark room. Regardless, he pushed himself out of the bath and let his bare arse face towards the window. He took a moment to brace himself properly since he was on his knees – it took a moment to get his right leg in a position where he wasn’t in danger of slipping, since he did have his foot to help balance him.

 

He grabbed the toy and rubbed the slick end against his entrance. He shivered with anticipation as he carefully spread his legs further apart and leaned down, one hand against the edge of the bath. His other arm was behind his back, fingers angering the tapered tip against his hole. He was met with expected resistance. He pressed his lips together tightly and kept pushing until the tip breached him. He stayed very still, his body clenched around the foreign object inside him. It was bizarre and the sensation wasn’t even that pleasurable, but his prick remained firmly interested, bobbing heavily between his legs and leaking bits of precum onto the floor.

 

Draco gripped the end firmly and wiggled his hips, pressing forward with his hands while his body pushed back, urging the slick object further inside him. He didn’t even realize he’d been holding his breath until a stifled gasp escaped his lips. He just thought about his neighbour on his knees behind him, thick cock jutting out, straining towards Draco’s ass. He imagined his toned thighs and sharp hipbones pressed against him the further the object got into his body. He knew his neighbour was much thicker, but the object was a good stand-in regardless.

 

He started pushing the thing in and out of his tight hole, arm buckling slightly so that his forehead was touching the wet floor next to the bath. For all he felt embarrassed about talking to himself earlier, the words started spilling out as if he was with a partner. “Yes, oh yes, deeper,” he moaned against the floor. It made it feel like there was someone else there. “Fuck,” he hissed, the burning sensation in his arse becoming slowly more pleasurable. His cock pulsed threateningly between his legs, demanding his attention. When he couldn’t stand not touching it anymore, he dropped his hand from the object buried deep inside him and started pumping his prick. “Fuck, fuck, fuck,” his voice was turning from a prayer to a whine with each stroke of his palm.

 

“Almost there. Almost there,” he promised to no one in particular, moving his hips with his thrusts so the object wiggled inside him, stretching the walls and brushing against a spot that delivered warm waves of pleasure to his stomach. “Fuck, fuck, FUCK!” He hissed as he orgasmed, cum washing over his hand and against the floor, a small amount splattered against his chin. He didn’t even bother to wipe it off as he leaned against the floor, gasping, legs spread. He reached behind him and rolled the object inside him a few times, enjoying the dull, pleasurable sensation it created in his sensitive body, before pulling it out. He dropped the object to the floor and stayed in that position until he caught his breath. And maybe giving his neighbour a good eyeful to finish on if he needed to.

 

Slowly, Draco sat up and slid over to the bath, getting back in to finish washing up. He glanced up at his neighbour’s house. He thought he caught a flicker of movement and that was enough to keep him perfectly satisfied with his show.

 

Such a terrible thing that he would be returning to work tomorrow. But, then again, could he put on a show for this guy everyday? Maybe. But perhaps he should keep it a novelty. He didn’t want it to become so expected that it became boring.

 

*

 

The following morning was not nearly so interesting. He stumbled his way through his morning routine and managed to make it to work just seconds before his shift started. Breakfast has been terribly uninteresting – waking up to not make much more than toast, considering he had to read how to make anything else. He decided after work he’d locate a café in his vicinity and pick up several breakfast scones. He’d also forgone his usual coffee for a cup of juice – Merlin help anyone who tried to cross him before 11am.

 

He also had to leave his flat wearing muggle clothes and had to change into his lime green healer’s robes when he got to work. If anyone noticed the clothes, they didn’t say anything.

 

The Janus Thickey ward had tripled in size since the end of the war and Draco was one of the five healers who tended to the patients. His shifts were a bit of a mess, but he was just glad to have to job.

 

“Healer Malfoy,” Neville Longbottom stood in the doorway of the ward and nodded to him stiffly.

 

“Professor Longbottom,” Draco returned just as coldly, but Neville’s frown was quick to break into a smile.

 

“I don’t know how you can do that!” Neville exclaimed and Draco’s shoulders relaxed slightly. If Neville liked playing this game, he really needed to get better at it. Why Neville liked to try to greet each other like they were still old enemies was beyond Draco. A bit of fun? Draco wasn’t sure. But Neville never managed to get further than Draco’s greeting.

 

“Lots of practice,” Draco shrugged, slightly playful attitude evaporating as he followed Neville to his mother’s bedside.

 

“You braided her hair,” Neville commented quietly, looking down at her as he took the sleeping woman’s hand. “She looks nice when you do that. Thank you.”

 

Draco shrugged again, not sure how to take his gratitude. He tried to do a little bit more than just his duties in the ward. He would bring potted plants for their bedsides, even if it meant he was the one who had to water them. It really brightened up the sterile, impersonal ward. He hadn’t been told off for that gesture yet, so he assumed it was all right. Sometimes he would decorate the bed area of the patients – usually the ones that were well enough to talk , so he had a vague idea of what they liked. One woman’s bed was surrounded by just-barely appropriate posters of attractive Quidditch players. She had gushed about Draco’s impeccable taste in men and wondered how a man could know just what she liked. He hadn’t really told her why. Even if he did, she probably wouldn’t remember the next day. But, he always paid particular attention to Neville’s parents. He tried not to think about why this was – it could be guilt, since they were there due to his Aunt Bellatrix, but it could have been that Neville was his friend. He preferred to think it was the latter, despite having been attentive to them prior to Neville’s friendship. Alice’s hair was wispy and made her look sickly, so Draco had taken to braiding it – it looked better that way, at least it looked like it was cared for. She would sit still for Draco to do so and she seemed to enjoy it, though he couldn’t be sure.

 

Neville was the entire reason Draco had a job at St. Mungo’s. After completing his eighth year of school, Draco had applied to every job in the Wizarding World he could think of. No one was inclined to give him a chance. His parents insisted he would be just fine living on the Malfoy family money, but Draco couldn’t stand spending all day at that bloody house. He needed something to occupy his mind. Finally, Draco had decided to try the healer exams. Anyone was allowed to try for the exams. He spent several weeks studying for the next set to come up and had managed to past the test with a high score. It wasn’t the best score, but it was more than enough for him to be accepted to the training program. It was as much a shock to him as it was to everyone else that he was accepted for training. However, it quickly became clear that, despite his training, they had no intention of offering him a position. Despite that, he completed the training, hoping that the skill could get him a position somewhere else. Maybe he would move to France and pick up there.

 

But it just so happened he was coming through the Floo on one of his last days in training and smacked right into Neville Longbottom. They’d both fallen to the floor in the mostly empty lobby of St. Mungo’s. And this was well before Draco had taken to wearing Muggle trousers under his robes. No matter how realistic his false leg looked – there wasn’t much to do to hide the seam where it ended and his real leg began. And, really, he hadn’t bothered to even try since it would only add to his morning routine and he hadn’t expected anyone to ever see his knees. Needless to say, Neville had noticed.

 

It had been a particularly rough day, and Draco ended up at the Leaky Cauldron with Neville Longbottom of all people, telling him about the incident he’d never shared with anyone personally – all of his friends who knew had heard the story from others. It hadn’t been all that unpleasant. And, when Draco completed his training, he was shocked to have an offer to work in the Janus Thickey Ward, courtesy of a respected War Hero and Hogwarts Professor who thought he deserved a second chance.

 

Draco took Neville out for a drink to thank him and they’d been friends ever since.

 

“School starting back soon?” He tried casually, trying to reroute the subject to something more light. He always felt awkward when people came to visit their ailing family members. He could deal with the patients easily, but grieving family members were much harder to bear.

 

“Same time every year,” Neville raised an eyebrow at him. He caught the poor conversation starter for what it was.

 

Draco sat down in a chair as Neville sat by his mother’s bedside.

 

“You know, Draco, never in a million years would I have thought things would be like this. If you had told me in fifth year that in ten years I would be the Herbology professor and you would be a healer and we would actually be friends? I would have thought they’d gone barmy!”

 

Draco relaxed a little in his chair and smirked. “Actually, I called the Herbology professor thing,” he ran his hand through his hair. “What I didn’t see coming was you turning out so handsome.”

 

Neville laughed and flushed a bright red. Draco wasn’t kidding. Neville had somehow turned out devilishly handsome. And what was even better was that Neville didn’t seem to notice. All those years spent as the chubby, cowardly Gryffindor had taken their toll on his self-confidence. Neville was in a much more comfortable place with himself and his abilities now, of course, but he still balked when anyone dared to imply he was handsome. “Are you hitting on me, Draco?”

 

Draco raised his eyebrows innocently. “Now why would I do that when I know you’re perfectly straight? It’d be a waste of my time.”

 

“Hey, I don’t mind the compliment,” Neville shrugged and put another hand over his mother’s.

 

Draco frowned, watching the gesture with some guilt. How Neville managed to put everything that had happened behind them… “After this, let’s go to the Leaky Cauldron. My treat.” He hated that place. It was so dirty. And the people there hated him. But Neville loved it. Draco suspected it wasn’t for the food, but for the new owner – a Hufflepuff girl who had gone to Hogwarts with them.

 

“You’re in a good mood today,” Neville commented and Draco’s apprehension started to flutter away bit by bit, thinking about his new place and how much better he felt.

 

“Ah, well,” he leaned back, trying to sound nonchalant when, really, he was dying to tell someone about it. “I had a good weekend. Finally found a new place.”

 

“Really?” Neville seemed intrigued, but his hands never left his mother’s. He’d been aware of Draco’s struggle to find a place to live, but wasn’t privy to the reasons. He had probably deduced for himself reasons, but Draco had never spoken them aloud. “That is news.”

 

Draco tried not to smirk because he knew the next words would be a shock, but he tried to downplay the announcement as much as possible. “It’s a flat in Muggle London.”

 

Neville’s eyes widened and his eyebrows shot up. “You’re joking.”

 

“No. And I ordered delivery pizza on a telephone,” Draco added, feeling very satisfied with himself. He had adjusted quite nicely and he had no qualms with bragging about it.

 

“Now I know you’re lying,” Neville scoffed, but didn’t seem entirely disbelieving.

 

“And I’ve got a hot neighbour across the way.”

 

This intrigued Neville even more. “Male or female?”

 

“Male,” Draco answered immediately, as if Neville was dense. Draco knew quite well he wasn’t. “Neville, I told you, it’s a ninety-ten thing.”

 

“And? Still bisexual, isn’t it?” Neville asked, defending his answer, just as casually as if he was saying a platypus was still a mammal. “There’s still a ten percent chance it could be a girl.”

 

“Yeah, well,” Draco waved it off. He hadn’t been with a girl since Pansy at Hogwarts. He wasn’t even sure it was a bisexual thing anymore. He’d been pretty sure he was attracted to her at the time, but he wasn’t sure anymore if that was because he felt he was _supposed_ to be attracted to her or if he really was. There hadn’t been a woman he’d felt the same about since. Certainly, he’d found women attractive, but he wasn’t entirely sure he was interested in bedding them anymore. Regardless, for now, the label didn’t particularly matter to Draco. He liked who he liked and he wouldn’t think about it too much. He had other things on his mind. Like his neighbour. “I certainly got an eyeful all weekend.”

 

“An eyeful?” Neville’s voice didn’t hold any hesitation in talking about something crass. He just seemed interested in Draco’s adventurous weekend.

 

“He likes to walk around naked,” Draco tried to suppress a grin at the thought. It was the easiest way to describe it without alluding to his own dirty past time of masturbating for a neighbour.

 

Neville made a slight face, one that was clearly forced to tease Draco. “If I buy the first round, do you promise not to regale me with the details?”

 

“Must you always ruin my fun?” Draco smirked.

 

“It has been my life’s ambition.”

 

“No, I’m pretty sure that goes to Potter,” Draco scoffed and realized his mistake immediately. Tension rose up between them instantly. How did Draco always manage to do that? He was having a pleasant conversation with Neville and somehow Potter managed to come up in over half of them. It always led to a very uncomfortable conversation between them. One of these days, Draco worried it would ruin his and Neville’s friendship. They were both prepared to put their school days behind them – they’d both matured and grown into different people. But Potter was a strong connection to their past and reminded them of the differences they once had and how Draco used to bully Neville. The problem was, sometimes it was hard to avoid. Potter was still Neville’s friend and Potter had been such a big impact on both of them in the past, just in very different ways. He was one of the things he had in common and somehow it always managed to creep up. In particular, Draco was the one who seemed to bring it up. Neville was always able to easily skirt around the topic.

 

Neville glanced away, as if that would break the sudden discomfort in the room. “You know,” he began reproachfully, “he’s really not that bad…”

 

Draco sighed heavily, unsurprised by Neville’s optimism. Every time this happened, Neville always seemed to suggest that Potter and Draco might get along now – the same way Draco and Neville had managed it despite their sordid past. He tried to dash Neville’s line of thought quickly. “Do you even remember what we were like in school?”

 

“Do you remember what _we_ were like?” Draco should have seen that argument coming. “And here we are planning to get drinks at the Leaky. People change, Draco. They grow up. None of us are who we used to be.”

 

Draco resisted rolling his eyes. “And Potter would happily extend his hand in friendship to me?” He said sarcastically, but resisted wondering why he wished Neville would say yes.

 

“I didn’t say that… it wouldn’t be easy, of course. I mean… it wasn’t for us. But if he gets to know you, you two would hit it off, I think.” Now what did _that_ mean?

 

“Now it sounds like you’re trying to set me up,” Draco shot back, trying to lighten the mood a bit.

 

It worked. Neville immediately started laughing – loud enough that it woke his mother up. “Oh Merlin! You and Harry Potter! I would have to be off my trolley!”


	3. A Thing

Harry Potter was the department’s top Auror, the Saviour of the Wizarding World, and a dirty, dirty pervert. Actually, a more accurate term would be voyeur. Which was, decidedly, still a pervert. The worst kind of pervert since the person he was watching had no idea.

 

Merlin. What a weekend, though. Despite the guilt that weighed heavy in Harry’s chest, and the fact that he tried very hard to regret his actions, he was absolutely enthralled. He’d tried to reason with himself – after all, it wasn’t hurting anyone. But it was a massive invasion of privacy. Oh, but it was an _incredible_ invasion of privacy.

 

Perhaps he should back up. Think about what had gotten him into this situation. It was five years after the war and it had been a year since they’d rounded up and convicted the last of the free Death Eaters. And in this time, Harry had been taking on very different cases than what he was used to. For instance, this particular case had to do with smuggling. Particularly, wizards using Muggle means to smuggle illegal magical creatures and magical creature parts across the countryside. The source of it seemed to be emanating from London. Harry and Ron were the lead Aurors on the case. Ron was working the case from the Wizarding end of things and Harry, having lived with them for several years and therefore being more knowledgeable about the lifestyle, from the Muggle side. He’d gone undercover, using glamours to conceal his identity and moving into a Muggle flat.

 

Three weeks of absolutely nothing had Harry thrust into boredom. He was the obvious choice to play the Muggle, of course, but Ron seemed to get all the interesting bits. For Harry, it was a whole lot of waiting and nothing happening. Until his new neighbour moved in, of course.

 

He had noticed, earlier in the day, movement in a previously vacant flat across the street. And promptly thought nothing of it. It wouldn’t have even been noticed if Harry hadn’t been particularly bored, clinging to anything new. If he had to spend one more moment pretending to be “James from the Department for Transport,” he might just scream. He wasn’t used to undercover missions that required patience. He was used to raids and attacks. It wasn’t that he didn’t enjoy quiet life – he certainly did. It was more that he couldn’t stand the waiting.

 

So, that same night that he noticed a new neighbour, he’d gone to take a shower, rather later than he should have, but there’d been something barely interesting on the telly that somehow managed to hold his attention for three hours. He’d groaned when he turned it off and tossed his glasses to the side so he could rub his eyes. He’d sauntered into the bathroom, taken a quick shower, and wrapped his towel around his waist when he got out. And, of course, that was when he realized he’d tossed his glasses elsewhere in the living room. Really, didn’t the world understand how hard it was to find your glasses when you weren’t wearing them?!

 

He’d slumped his shoulders and returned to the living room, leaning close to every surface to see where they’d landed. He’d finally found them on the chair and put them on. They were not his usual round frames, but they hadn’t been able to get around Harry’s need for glasses even for his disguise. So they were square, black frames that seemed to be popular these days. Regardless, Harry had grumbled about the lack of spells for fixing eyesight.

 

“They can regrow bones but can’t fix near-sightedness?” He had said.

 

Just as he had been returning to his bathroom to put some clothes on, he saw it. His new neighbour across the way was still awake and he was… touching himself in the bath. Harry’s initial reaction had been to blush and turn away, trying to get the vision out of his head. But… curiosity overcame his good judgment. His neighbour was blonde, male, and lean. And oh, right now Harry had a weakness for exactly those three things. Like exactly now. As soon as he saw his neighbour. Suddenly he had a weakness for those things. His hair looked dark blonde, but Harry couldn’t make out any facial features from this distance. There was some sort of mark on his left forearm, which made Harry flinch internally before he realized it was red and looked like a burn or a scar – not like a Dark Mark. After all, they’d gathered up all the former marked Death Eaters. And one certainly wouldn’t be in Muggle London wanking in his bath.

 

The bloke’s eyes seemed to be closed and Harry’s dick sprang to life. Before he even realized what he was doing, he’d dropped his towel and grabbed it, pumping it in his hand as he watched his pale neighbour.

 

Harry had always been efficient with his wanking. Fast and hard. Get it over with and out of the way. But his neighbour was practically making a show of it, like he was some sort of queen being treated to a luxury – the bubble bath, the dim lighting, the way he arched in back as if his hands were the best treat he’d ever given himself. Merlin, yes.

 

For one terrifying moment, he’d thought the neighbour had seen him, but he certainly didn’t stop. Harry decided there was no way the neighbour had noticed or he would have stopped immediately. He felt a bit shameful as this thought crept on him, but his neighbour had decided to get out of the bath at that moment, giving Harry a clear view of his bright pink cock, dancing delectably between his legs. He was a bit shocked to see the man was missing his right leg below the knee, but Harry’s mind wasn’t focused on that. He couldn’t manage to convince his hand off his prick now. Harry stroked furiously, rocking his hips to thrust in his hand as his neighbour arched his body and moaned. Harry came on the large glass window quickly. He grabbed his towel and wiped it away immediately. He let his gaze slide over to the man across the way just as his body tightened and he had the most debauched orgasm Harry had ever witnessed (at least until the next time he saw his neighbour) and he bolted before the man would notice him.

 

 

 

The next night, Harry was a bit more clever, but slightly more perverse. Lights off and invisibility cloak intact, Harry stood by the window, waiting for the neighbour to take a bath once more. He berated himself for nearly an hour – why would he go to the bath and do the same thing again? That couldn’t possibly be part of his routine!

 

But, apparently, it was. He watched his neighbour lie on his bed and read for a bit. But the man shut the blinds and Harry waited. The light didn’t go out – so there was still some hope he held on to. After about five minutes, the bathroom lights came on, dimmed like the night before. Harry’s breath caught in his throat. Was he really going to do it again?! He adjusted his invisibility cloak, hand hovered desperately close to his prick as his neighbour walked over to the far side of the bathroom where he couldn’t see. After a moment, he returned and sat something long and slender next to the bath – far too thick and short to be a wand. The implications made Harry’s heart pound.

 

His neighbour stripped like he was putting on a show, revealing every inch of pale skin. When he’d unbuttoned his shirt, his hand had fallen to touch himself and Harry’s breath hitched – he was going to do it again. There was no turning back now. Harry’s cock was already thoroughly invested.

 

The man, when undressing, had both legs – a realistic prosthetic? Harry mused. But he could see the seam of the false leg once his pants had been shucked. He watched him with curiosity and a hint of fascination as he removed the leg and sat it aside. Somehow his neighbour managed to make that action just as sensual as stripping.

 

The neighbour was doing exactly as he was before – every touch of his own hands seemed to bring him an unfair amount of pleasure. Just how skilled were his fingers that even just touching his nipples made him seem on the edge of coming? When his neighbour licked his fingers, Harry grabbed is dick firmly and started stroking. Who the hell masturbated like that?!

 

 _Stop, Harry. You should stop. You’re watching some other bloke touch himself. You should stop. This is so wrong._ But damn, if it wasn’t a gorgeous sight.

 

 _Besides,_ he reasoned with himself, _it’s not hurting anyone. He doesn’t know I’m watching and he’ll never know. It’s just like watching a video. And it has been over a year since I’ve had any sort of sexual with anyone. And the bloke doesn’t know. I’m such a pervert. He doesn’t know. I’ll just finish this one time and never again. Just one more time._

 

Making his hand slow down was nearly impossible as he watched his neighbour lift himself out of the bath and grab the item Harry had been eyeing the entire time. He leaned forward, bare arse facing Harry, and rested a hand outside of the bath. He carefully positioned the item behind him. Harry’s mouth watered, admiring the view the neighbour had given him. The man spread his legs apart wide as he attempted to push the tapered piece inside of him.

 

Harry had to drop his hand from his cock, the precum smearing against the inside of his cloak. He’d never thought he’d have to clean his cloak after something like this. But he couldn’t let himself come too soon. After all, his neighbour wasn’t finished. And he didn’t want to spend himself on one thing when another better thing might come along. Perhaps literally.

 

The man seemed to struggle to push the object inside him. And that was even hotter than the practiced moves from earlier. It was like the atmosphere turned from watching a porno to coming home and catching your gorgeous boyfriend trying to fingerfuck himself. It felt real. And watching him try to wiggle his hips and sink the toy deeper was actually the most adorable and wanton thing Harry had ever seen. His sheer determination to make it happen made Harry want to walk over to that flat and ask him out. Take him on a few dates… then watch him practice that will power on Harry’s cock. Try to take all of Harry down his throat despite choking and his eyes watering. Harry would try to pull him off, just to be swatted away like Harry’s dick and the neighbour’s throat were in competition and he had to win. And then the next night, his neighbour would come after Harry’s cock again, the war not at all over, and sitting on it, bouncing up and down with his eyes closed and his breathing stopped, trying to get all of Harry’s prick to fit. He would fail desperately at first, only able to take in the tip. But he would wiggle his hips just like he was doing now, until his thighs were flush against Harry’s. He would ride Harry with his head thrown back and his heavy pink cock bobbing between them like he had something to prove. Harry would touch him and toy with his nipples just like his neighbour liked. And after they were spent and fell asleep, Harry would wake up with his neighbour’s mouth around his prick, trying to deep throat him again, determined not to let that battle be lost.

 

Harry’s hand was back around his throbbing erection as his neighbour started pumping his own cock, the object still stretching his tight, puckered hole. He tried to imagine that hole stretched around him. Precum was flowing copiously from the slit as his neighbour orgasmed, body tensing and object wiggling inside him. Harry pumped harder, ready for his own orgasm, when his neighbour decided to reach behind him and play with his arsehole a little more. Harry choked as he came all over his cloak and hand. He tried to wipe it up quickly and knocked it askew. He managed to save it and glanced over at his neighbour to see if he had noticed. He hadn’t. He had crawled back into the bath and Harry watched him wipe his chin.

 

Sweet merciful Merlin. Why was tomorrow Monday?

 

*

 

 

 

“Harry Potter, are you even listening to me?” Ginny was frowning at him from across the table.

 

“Yeah, definitely,” Harry lied immediately, but Ginny pursed her lips in challenge.

 

“Really?” Ginny’s eyebrows shot up. She definitely didn’t believe him. “Then what was I talking about?”

 

Oh, Harry was definitely caught now. He cast about in his mind for something that wasn’t about his neighbour in the bath, but failed to come up with anything. What would Ginny normally be talking about? “Quidditch?”

 

Ginny tossed a chip at him. “Lucky guess,” she responded, a clear pout in her voice, but she definitely didn’t believe Harry had been listening. They were both sitting in the Leaky Cauldron, both over a basket of chips. They met like this at least once a week – less since Harry had taken on his undercover position, but he’d managed to disappear after another mind-numbing day at work and removed his glamours on his way to meet Ginny. He’d stopped by during his lunch break and discreetly firecalled her to let her know he would be able to meet her for dinner. Her practice schedule didn’t make it easy anymore, but they still managed to see each other.

 

Ginny tucked her long hair behind her ear and rolled her eyes, as if she was finally caving to something. “All right, Harry. What is it?”

 

“What’s what?”

 

“You’re kidding, right? You’ve been holding that chip to your mouth for five minutes,” she pointed out and Harry flushed, quickly dropping his hand. He suspected she was exaggerating slightly, but somewhere between picking up the chip and eating it, he’d gotten lost in his thoughts. And he certainly couldn’t tell Ginny about those thoughts. No matter how blunt and nice she was.

 

“Nothing. It’s just… nothing. Nevermind,” he mumbled and stared down at his plate. He could sense Ginny’s eye roll without even looking up at her.

 

“It’s someone, right?” She pressed. “Ron says your work is boring and going nowhere right now, so it must be someone new.”

 

“Maybe,” Harry responded cautiously, daring to look up at her, though keeping his head bowed.

 

Ginny seemed quite satisfied as if his answer hadn’t been evasive. “What’re they like?”

 

Harry sighed heavily and leaned back, running his hand through his hair. “I wish you would stop asking me that every time I see someone interesting.”

 

“I’m just trying to figure out your thing.”

 

“My thing, Gin, is that I don’t have a thing,” not entirely true. He had “things,” not just one, but multiple. “There’s no such thing as a ‘thing.’”

 

“Oh, come off it,” Ginny blew him off. “Everyone has a thing. I mean, Cho and I were your serious interests, right? But we’re not alike at all.”

 

Harry scoffed. There was not just one thing he liked! He had certain preferences, yes, but sometimes they even conflicted each other. Or they changed quickly. When he’d been with Ginny, he’d found red hair incredibly gorgeous. But now he was into blondes. And he had a thing for both men and women, which was definitely contradictory, but he liked them both for very different reasons. In some ways, he had a preference for women, but in other ways it was for men. And it had changed, too. Right now he was slightly more inclined to men – perhaps because all of his previous (failed, he might add) relationships were with women. And maybe he thought the solution was with a man. It didn’t make any conscious sense, but maybe his subconscious was pressing that thought right up against his mind and turning his preference to men. But this was why there was no such thing as a “thing!” Harry’s “thing” changed and contradicted itself and was never limited to one thing. That was why Ginny couldn’t figure it out – because she kept trying to constrain it. “Fine,” Harry’s voice had a challenge. “What’s your thing, then? Dean and I were nothing alike except we were both male Gryffindors.”

 

“I thought that’d be fairly obvious,” Ginny smiled into her drink conspiratorially and took a sip. “I like the understated hero types.”

 

“Understated what?” Harry repeated, feeling a bit strange that Ginny had a type. And he was one of those types? He also balked at the use of the word hero.

 

“You know… men who are brave and noble but don’t feel the need to brag about it. Like you, Dean, Michael, Neville…”

 

“You had a thing for Neville?” Harry decided to latch onto that thread than follow many of the other thoughts swirling in his head.

 

“In third and fourth year,” Ginny nodded with a smile.

 

“I thought you had a crush on me…” Harry trailed off, eyebrows furrowed.

 

“You can have a crush on more than one person at once, Harry Potter. I wasn’t going to wait around for you forever,” Ginny rolled her eyes. “After he asked me to the Yule Ball, I actually noticed him,” she shrugged a bit and scratched her cheek. “And I liked what I saw. But you’re deflecting, Harry. What about this person you fancy?”

 

Harry wasn’t even going to answer – even if he could. If he fed into Ginny’s theory, she might start trying to find him his “type.” He really didn’t want to be set up, which seemed to be what everyone was trying to do. Ginny hadn’t – so far – and he didn’t want her to switch sides to the matchmaking side. He understood why Hermione and Ron were so keen on finding him someone. With them, he was always turning into the third wheel. It wasn’t terrible all of the time, but it did become uncomfortable on occasion. And Harry may have felt a little resentful at times, wishing he had someone. After all, Ron and Hermione were so close now, and they shared something Harry didn’t. It was hard not to feel a little left out. He wanted something like they had.

 

But, at the same time, he felt very conflicted about being set up. On one hand, he wanted to find something and he knew it wasn’t a terrible way to go about it – after all, who knew Harry better than Ron and Hermione? But, on the other hand, it was embarrassing and uncomfortable and he wanted to find someone without their help. And their suggestions weren’t always… the best. They knew who was a good match for Harry, certainly, but they didn’t seem to understand what Harry actually wanted. Probably because Harry wasn’t certain himself.

 

Ginny had been the first person he told about liking men in addition to women. They were dating at the time and she’d been very understanding. After that, he’d told Ron and Hermione. Eventually, it got about to their closest friends, which was fine. But, in the end, particularly after Harry and Ginny split, Harry was faced with the choice of coming out himself, living in secrecy, adamantly not dating any men, or having the Wizarding World find out on their own. The first option was definitely the best. So, he came out about a year after he and Ginny broke up, so there wouldn’t be too much speculation about why they split (not that there wasn’t any – there was just a lot less.) He liked to keep his private life private, but he also didn’t want to subject himself to any of the alternatives. He wanted to try dating blokes and he didn’t want to live in secrecy or force any of the men he dated into secrecy. And if he tried to hide it and it came out, it would seem like some dirty secret he was trying to hide.

 

Thankfully, the Weasleys and his friends had been very supportive through it all. Ginny and his split had been amicable – both agreeing that the passion just wasn’t there anymore – so he had full support of her and all the Weasleys.

 

Molly, thankfully and unfortunately, was devastatingly supportive. She was the worst for trying to set him up. Men or women, she was always managing to invite children of distant friends or relatives over whenever Harry was around. And her set ups were extremely obvious, just leaving Harry uncomfortable with one of Fleur’s cousins from France and trying to carry on a polite conversation in stilted English.

 

Actually, what would be really nice right now, almost as nice as having a significant other, was a gay or bisexual friend. He’d only lamented lacking one once aloud. To Neville. When he’d been quite tipsy. Neville, thankfully, didn’t say anything to anyone. Harry just didn’t want his friends thinking they weren’t good enough, which was why he never brought it up. It wasn’t that they weren’t. He had the most amazing friends in the world! But what would really be nice was to have someone who understood. Male or female – he didn’t care. Just someone he didn’t stumble over his pronouns with.  All of his friends were supportive, but sometimes the conversation did take on a slightly uncomfortable level – they just weren’t quite used to Harry mentioning men after knowing him one way for most of their lives. And there had been the one time Ron had mentioned that Harry could just choose to go after girls and his life would be much less stressful. He knew Ron meant well, but the slip up had frustrated Harry. Yes, he could choose to date only women. But that wouldn’t stop him from being attracted to men. Actually, making the decision to choose women just made him want to date men more.

 

No matter how supportive they were – they just couldn’t quite understand. Not on the same level as someone else who was a little bent.

 

Would he have told a bent friend about the man he saw? Maybe. It was more likely than telling his ex-girlfriend, at the very least. He wasn’t sure if it actually made her uncomfortable when he talked about blokes, but his mind screamed at him that it did. Which was why he had to change the subject.

 

“So the Wimbourne Wasps are looking pretty good this year,” he commented lightly.

 

“I hope you’re joking. They’re down at the bottom with the Canons! You’re as daft and blind as Ron if you think they’ve got any chance!” Ginny gestured violently with a chip in hand. “And don’t think I don’t know what you’re doing, Harry. But I’m accepting this deflection because it’s about Quidditch. And Quidditch is infinitely more interesting than your non-existent love life,” Ginny reprimanded

 

“I’m going to tell Ron you called him daft,” Harry joked, glad to keep the conversation away from his love life.

 

Ginny snorted and ate a chip. “You think I don’t say that to his face? Really, Harry, it’s like you don’t know me at all.”

 

After successfully navigating his lunch with Ginny, he went to the ministry to fill out some paperwork and then back to his flat. And back to his neighbour.


	4. Candlelight

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Additional warnings for this chapter: wax play.

Monday night, Harry caught movement here and there and lights of the flat across the street flicked on and off. Harry tried to focus on the programme on the television, but he was easily distracted by his neighbour’s place. He kept hopping up off his sofa, hoping to see his neighbour go into the bathroom. But that night, the curtains were closed and Harry felt a deep sense of loss and disappointment when he went to bed.

 

Tuesday night. Same thing. Curtains drawn. Harry began to desperately wonder if he had been caught.

 

Harry wanted his neighbour. More than he’d ever wanted another person. For him, sex had always been about a pre-established connection. It was a new level in a relationship, something that was built up to. He’d never just wanted to knock on some stranger’s door and both of them fall into a frenzied session of nonstop fucking. It was a little terrifying and… Merlin, he wanted it.

 

Harry wasn’t sure what to do. Should he go over and introduce himself? Harry was immensely horrified with that idea immediately. While it did have some appeal – since he was extremely attracted to his neighbour – it was also horrifying. His neighbour could know what Harry had done. He had no guarantee his neighbour wouldn’t contact the police as soon as he appeared on his doorstep like some terrifying stalker.

 

He should just get over it. Yes. Don’t do it ever again. It wouldn’t be that hard since his neighbour kept his bathroom curtains firmly shut every night.

 

Except Friday.

 

Friday, he came home from work and found the curtains to the bathroom open. Harry tried to resist – he really did. He had dinner in his kitchen, away from his neighbour’s window. He took a shower and firmly ignored his prick. He even staunchly refused to turn on the telly and closed the curtains in his room, choosing to sit on the bed and read. Though, in the end, he was forcing himself to read and couldn’t seem to finish even the first sentence.

 

At first he tried poring over his case reports. When that failed, he tried to read a magic theory book (from Hermione). And when that couldn’t hold his interest, he grabbed a Muggle murder mystery book. Harry wasn’t an avid reader, but he had a small bookshelf of Muggle books. But, even then, around 11, Harry was staring at his curtains so hard he might just be able to see through them.

 

Swearing to himself, he decided it was just morbid curiosity. He just wanted to know if his neighbour had a sort of routine. And if that meant he was standing next to the window in his invisibility cloak for nearly a half an hour, then it was just the price Harry had to pay for his curiosity.

 

And, well, it seemed there was a routine. His neighbour didn’t touch himself every night – that seemed to be reserved for the weekends. What was more baffling was that the curtains were open now. Why keep them closed all week and then open them on the weekend? Maybe the bloke thought everyone would be out at night on the weekends and no one would spy. After all, Harry had a nice view – and he wasn’t just talking about his neighbour. He imagined it would be nice to relax in a bath after a long week of work and stare out at the city. Maybe the other man had weird shifts and closed the curtains when he wasn’t home. There were so many explanations for it. The least of which was that the man hoped someone watched him. It was late – everyone else was either out or asleep. Why would anyone be around to see him? If he wanted to be caught, he’d be doing this much earlier in the evening.

 

Besides, that was all wishful thinking on Harry’s part – that he wasn’t some sort of pervert. Just the other half of someone else’s fantasy.

 

The angle from which he could see his neighbour meant he couldn’t see much of the bathroom – just the bath itself and part of a counter. His neighbour’s head was blocked when he was standing near the bath. But that didn’t really ruin the show. While he would have liked to be able to see his neighbour’s face a little better, he hardly focused on it.

 

Honestly, though, his neighbour’s masturbatory excursions were getting a little out of hand. WHO masturbated like this? Although the lighting was dimmer than usual, his neighbour set out candles – really, candles? – and was dressed completely in a slim, probably enormously expensive, suit. Did he just get home from work? He’d seen lights turning on and off for a few hours and then nothing. Maybe he got home from a date. Harry swallowed hard at that thought. Would someone be joining him? Who wouldn’t want to join someone as gorgeous as his neighbour? At least, his body was gorgeous. His face was always hard to make out with the angle and dim lighting.

 

He was torn – he wanted to see if his neighbour would bring a man or woman home, but, then again, he felt a slight, irrational rise of jealousy at the thought of someone else with his neighbour.

 

The candles would make sense if someone else were there.

 

However, it seemed his neighbour was just really that into his solo activities. Harry was starting to wonder if he was doing it all wrong. The most elaborate he ever got was spending thirty minutes at it – mostly fantasizing and getting warmed up. It had felt a bit like a waste of time when he could manage to come in five to ten minutes and still feel satisfied. If he spent any less time on it, it felt a little too rushed. But any longer and it felt tedious. But he never had an orgasm as incredible as the ones his neighbour seemed to enjoy. Maybe his neighbour was the one with the right idea.

 

Maybe making a whole evening of it complete with candles and (possibly, he couldn’t tell) music and whatever rich fantasies and foreplay his neighbour did was actually the best way to go about it if you weren’t going to have a partner.

 

His throat clenched as his neighbour finished lighting the candles, but he didn’t go for the curtains. Instead, his neighbour shucked his jacket and tossed it behind him haphazardly. His long fingers went to his tie and Harry watched his bowed head. In the dim light, he still had difficulty telling what shade of blonde it was, but he was definitely lighter than a brunette. Was it a very light blonde? he wondered, but was met with a very jarring vision of Draco Malfoy. Harry quickly shook that from his mind. That could ruin a fantasy in an instant! He hadn’t seen Malfoy in nearly five years – not since his trial. Word was that Malfoy didn’t do much interacting with the Wizarding World anymore. (Good riddance.) But he had heard Malfoy worked at St. Mungo’s. However, it must have been in a ward Harry didn’t visit because he’d been there dozens of times, either for himself, a colleague, or a victim, and hadn’t stumbled across him at all. It was probably just a rumour. No one in their right mind would hire Malfoy in the Wizarding World. Even if Harry had spoken highly of him at his trial – it wasn’t enough to remove Draco’s past transgressions. People who had lived through the war had no interest in interacting with Death Eaters – even reformed ones.

 

His mind had wandered too much, and he hadn’t been focusing on his neighbour slowly unbuttoning his shirt and loosening his tie. It seemed a little obscene that he kept his tie on while he discarded his shirt as well. Harry eyed it hanging loosely as the man reached down to his trousers. He unbuttoned them slowly, but instead of dropping them, his slim fingers worked their way beneath the fabric. Heat rose to Harry’s neck as he watched the movement of the hand hidden by the silky trousers. He was kneading his palm against his prick under the fabric. Merlin, why did this man seem to find himself so delectable? If Harry was that aroused by himself, he probably wouldn’t need a partner, either. Or, apparently, a show.

 

Did his neighbour find himself this aroused other places? Was his bathroom the one place he performed such admirable and elaborate rituals? Or did he work in an office that he shut every lunch break and had his debauched way with himself? Did he disappear into the changing room at stores when he found himself fitted with a particularly dashing suit?

 

His neighbour finally used his other hand to push the trousers down and stepped out of them. Harry watched the pale, muscular legs with rapt attention, eyes sliding up when he realized the man wasn’t wearing any pants. That was incredibly hot. If Harry were on a date with someone not wearing any sort of underwear, he wouldn’t be able to focus. He would just be imagining _this_. And now he was going to imagine this man wearing nothing but a tie every time he saw the blasted things.

 

Even more noticeably, the man’s prosthetic leg was… different. It wasn’t his usual one. This one looked like it was made out of a shining black material that looked almost fluid. It wasn’t like any Harry had ever seen. It seemed to shine brilliantly despite the low light.

 

After a few long, languid strokes, his neighbour strolled around the edge of the bath and Harry watched the way he walked with fascination. He walked absolutely perfectly – if Harry met him, he would have never guessed his leg was missing. His neighbour finally stopped on the opposite side of the bath and reached up, ripping the tie off. Harry inhaled sharply. Harry didn’t bother with the drawstring on his pyjamas, rather pushing the tightly bound fabric over his hips and down to his knees. He wouldn’t have bothered with clothes at all if it weren’t winter and the window wasn’t getting colder and colder each night.

 

His cock was already half hard, eager at his neighbour’s display. His neighbour removed his leg as always and slipped into the bath, dipping his head underwater and remerging immediately. His face was cast into shadows by the flickering candlelight around him. Harry watched him briefly lather up his hair before ducking underneath the water once more. Harry ground his teeth together impatiently. Had someone told his neighbour that baths were for washing?

 

His neighbour was completely oblivious to Harry’s impatience, however. He poured soap into his hand with much more reverence than Harry thought was entirely necessary and slathered it on his skin, drawing his hands over his arms, shoulder, collarbone, chest… His neighbour rose out of the bath and perched on the edge, running his soapy hands over his sculpted calf and pale thighs, moving slowly up, but glossing over his erect pink prick. He drew his hands over his abdomen and then slid his hands downwards, cradling and stroking his prick thoroughly. One hand slipped further between his legs and though Harry didn’t have a good view, the neighbour’s back arching in pleasure told him quite well what he was doing.

 

Harry’s hand was going slowly, squeezing and stroking his cock, trying to match the other man’s progress, though he briefly wondered if he could manage to come twice by the time the other man finished. 

 

Much to Harry’s dismay, the other man slipped back into the soapy bath water. He rinsed himself off and his hand spent some time underneath the water, thrust between his legs. Harry’s disappointment with the poor view didn’t last long, however, as the man pulled himself back out, splashing water across his floor. He spread his legs obscenely and casually ran a hand through his hair, pushing it from his face. Finally, he reached over to one of the thick candles by the bath and examined it. Harry had no idea what the man could be thinking until he leaned back. He brought the candle over his body and tilted it, causing wax to splatter all over his chest and abdomen. Harry could see him flinch and twitch at the contact and he sat up quickly, sending some of the hot wax dripping down. The man’s breathing was hard, but his cock was still erect and very much interested.

 

What was Harry even watching? Was this even real life? It felt like he was asking that question a lot. His neighbour seemed to hesitate before picking up another candle. He’d enjoyed that? He had to – since he was doing it again. He leaned back further, elbow propping him up, his legs still spread and one knee curled over the edge of the bath.  He held the candle up and tipped it, letting the wax pour over his pale nipples. He flinched again, but Harry’s hand was picking up speed around his erection.

 

Harry forced his breathing through his nose to quiet the gasps, though no one could hear him. His neighbour trailed the candle down his abdomen, leaving small droplets in its wake, until he tipped the candle and spilled white wax onto his cock. He reacted violently and the candle extinguished and rolled away. After several long moments, his prick bobbing with every heavy breath, his neighbour stared pulling at the wax on his skin, picking the pieces off. Even from his distance, Harry could see the angry red splotches that had been left behind on his pale skin.

 

There was fluid glistening at the tip of his cock when the light hit it just the right way, as his neighbour pulled the wax painstakingly from his nipples. Harry pumped his own cock harder as the man’s hand wandered down and pulled each piece on his cock off with a small squirm, suppressing his initial flinch. Harry wished he knew whether it was pleasure or pain he felt.

 

The man moved back to the bath, but he was standing, one hand supporting him, the water lapping at his thighs. He leaned forward, bracing the same hand against the opposite edge of the bath and the other stroking his hard cock furiously. Harry mimicked the action, wishing it were his neighbour’s hand on his prick instead of his own.

 

His neighbour’s cum shot into the soapy bathwater, as he threw his head back in pleasure. He sunk down into the bath, water up to his chin, and Harry stopped focusing so much on squeezing his cock just right with every stroke and went for speed, pumping as hard and fast as he could, until his cum was splashing against the inside of his cloak.

 

So, candles were a thing, then?

 

*

 

“Draco, what is wrong with your chest?” Pansy was staring at him intently, her legs crossed as she leaned back in her favourite deep green armchair. Draco was on the sofa, slumped from a busy night and an even busier shift. His suit was rumpled and he’d removed his tie and opened several buttons on his shirt. It had been a very rough day. And it was late. But he’d promised Pansy he’d be over after his Saturday shift. He wasn’t stuck with every Saturday shift, but when he was, it was miserable. It was the biggest visiting day of the week. And many of the families who came to the ward weren’t particularly fond of Draco. He didn’t care to recall the details, but it wasn’t good.

 

Now he was in Pansy’s sitting room, desperately wishing it was an hour later and he could get back to his flat. He looked forward to his weekend shows, but he didn’t know if he would have the energy for one tonight.

 

Draco flushed instantly when he realized his Muggle shirt dipped too far down, revealing the nasty red splotches on his chest. He wasn’t sure he’d wilfully forgotten to spell them away or if he’d truly forgotten. He quickly buttoned the next button up, but Pansy grabbed his hands. She would have never dared to do such a thing during their school years. But here she was, boldly pulling his shirt back open and pushing it this way and that to get a better look at the marks on Draco’s skin. Draco sighed and didn’t bother fighting her.

 

“Is this some sort of disease?” She asked in disgust. “Did you get some sort of nasty Muggle disease?”

 

“No, Pansy. I know what it’s from,” he scowled and buttoned the shirt back up so no one else would notice.

 

Pansy was both very serious and very intrigued. “What’s it from?”

 

“I… splattered grease while I was cooking.”

 

Pansy stared at him blankly for a second, trying to form together a coherent thought in response to his “Muggle talk.” After a moment, her mouth made a small “o” and her eyebrows shot up. “That is not from cooking.”

 

Draco ignored her, but she pressed on.

 

“I tried that once. It was recommended in Witch Weekly. You,” she pointed a finger at him with no small amount of smug satisfaction, “have a boyfriend, Draco Malfoy.”

 

“No, I don’t,” he responded automatically.

 

“Don’t try to lie to me. You’ve got a boyfriend.”

 

Draco frowned at her. “Pansy-“

 

But she wouldn’t be quelled. “Well, if you don’t have a boyfriend, I have an idea for someone you might really like-“

 

Immediately, Draco shot back, “fine! I have a boyfriend!” He did NOT want to be involved in Pansy’s forays into matchmaking. Every single one had ended in utter disaster. Draco knew he had only himself to blame. His past tended to divide people pretty harshly – either he went on a date with someone who was repulsed that they’d been set up on a blind date with a former Death Eater – or they were far too supportive of it. Which was infinitely more terrifying.

 

What Draco really needed was someone who could either separate him from his past – recognize that he’d made mistakes and that he regretted his past – or someone who didn’t know about it at all. Maybe he should try dating foreign men.

 

“Who is he? Do I know him?”

 

“No.”

 

“Oh Merlin,” Pansy’s face lost all its colour. “Is he… Muggle?”

 

“No!” Draco snapped back far too quickly than he would like. He shouldn’t be insulted by the thought. After all… his hot Muggle neighbour seemed like a perfectly fine bloke. But he’d never voice that to Pansy. “He’s foreign.”

 

*

 

“Hello? Hello? Harry? Mate?” Harry blinked rapidly when he found Ron’s hand in front of his face. Harry looked at Ron with mild surprise. His mind had been wandering again, hadn’t it?

 

Harry was sitting in Ron and Hermione’s drawing room, on the sofa with his two best friends while Neville, Ginny, and Luna sat across from him, looking at him with curiosity. Ginny, like Ron, seemed a little annoyed, whereas Neville, like Hermione, looked concerned with Harry’s behaviour. Luna, on the other hand, looked serene as always. He really hoped she didn’t point out he had the fairies of sexual deviancy swirling around his head or something.

 

“He’s been like this,” Ginny frowned.

 

“What’s wrong with you?” Ron asked Harry.

 

Harry just shrugged, hoping his creeping blush wasn’t apparent.

 

“Harry’s seeing someone,” Ginny stated simply. Harry shot her a glare.

 

“You’re seeing someone?” Hermione leaned forward past Ron to look at him, cup of tea in her hand. In a way, he was seeing someone. A lot. But there was no way Harry was going to admit what he was really up to, but his friends were looking at him with avid interest, shock, and not a small amount of optimism. And that irked Harry a little bit. No, he hadn’t dated in a very long time, but they didn’t need to act like it was such a shock he managed to find someone on his own.

 

Harry just shrugged again. “Maybe I am.”

 

“Who is she, Harry?” Hermione asked and then amended, “or he?”

 

Harry glanced around – everyone was looking at him, waiting for an answer. “I’m not going to tell you much because I don’t want to ruin it. It’s still early,” he began cautiously. And because he didn’t know anything about him. And he was lying about dating someone. But if it kept him free of matchmaking for a little while and they wouldn’t look at him in pity that he couldn’t manage to get a date on his own, a little lie wouldn’t hurt.

 

“Well, tell us a little something about them,” Hermione pressed, much more aggressively curious than the others.

 

“Er,” Harry began, glancing at them. What did he know about him? “He’s blonde and he’s missing a leg.”

 

Neville choked on his tea.

 

“Well, what’s he like?” Hermione asked. “Not just how he looks.”

 

“He’s, er, a very busy person,” what did Harry know about him otherwise (that he could actually tell them)? He seemed like a busy person. “I don’t see him much.” That was true, at least. Maybe he really should try to get to know his neighbour. Outside of his neighbour’s weird sexual fetishes. “I mean, he works a lot, but it’s okay because he knows how to relax, too.” And how. “Not a bad sense of humour, either,” he added, though that wasn’t entirely sure on that one. It was just a guess. “Sharp-dresser.”

 

Neville seemed to be looking anywhere but Harry. What was wrong with him? Harry’s stomach squirmed nervously. He didn’t suspect, did he? Did he figure out what Harry was up to? How could he have known? Harry didn’t say anything to give him the idea, right?

 

“But how did you meet? No offense, mate, but you’ve been pretty shut-in since this case,” Ron added with a frown.

 

“Oh, I met him in Muggle London,” Harry averted the question with a vague response.

 

“Is he Muggle?” Luna piped up for the first time.

 

“This is starting to sound like an interrogation,” Harry cut off quickly, not wanting them to dig too deep and learn that Harry actually knew nothing about this man. “I don’t want to talk about it anymore right now.”

 

“Good. We don’t want to hear about it,” Ginny smiled devilishly at him. “So this smuggling case of yours isn’t going well I hear?”

 

Ron groaned and leaned back. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

 

“You don’t want to talk about it? I didn’t realize you were the one who was stuck filling out documentation for the Department for Transport all day,” Harry eyed him pointedly.

 

“Well, I’m sure you’ll get a break soon,” Hermione offered sympathetically. 


	5. Fingering (And Not in a Good Way)

Hermione’s words turned out to be prophetic. When Harry returned to work on Monday, he went through his normally early morning routine of filling out more paperwork than he thought was entirely necessary, taking a long coffee break, and staring at the clock, counting the seconds until lunch. And now, he had to add to his routine, firmly not thinking about watching his neighbour. What might he have in store for him this coming weekend? Harry smiled to himself, chewing on the end of a pencil as he stared at a wall – imagining just that.

It was about the time he was picturing his neighbour sprawled back on the sheets in Harry’s bed that his pocket glared with heat. He jumped up and dug the Galleon from his pocket.

_Gringotts_

Harry glanced around the cubes and rushed to the lavatory. He glanced under the stalls after sweeping the room, finding it empty, and disapparated.

He appeared with a pop in front of Gringotts, only a few feet away from Ron. “I got your message.”

Ron didn’t even flinch at Harry’s sudden arrival and pointed his wand at Harry’s face. “Finite.”

Harry frowned as his glamours disappeared. “Why did you do that?”

“Got a tip about one of the smugglers depositing their products into their account today,” he paused to hold his wand up and he saw several people stationed near the edges of the wide street hold theirs up as well. There was a slight shimmer in the air, but no other indication as to what happened. “Put up anti-disapparition wards. He’ll have no other choice but to run and we’re going to catch him.”

“But why take my glamours off?” Harry asked. “Wouldn’t it be easier if he didn’t recognize me?”

“Actually,” Ron turned to look at him and then patted Harry’s back. “You and I are the intimidation. See, we don’t know what this bloke looks like, right? But he doesn’t know that we don’t. And the goblins are never helpful with this sort of thing,” Ron waved his hand. “So they’re going to have the two most famous Aurors waiting right inside,” he grinned and they started walking towards the building behind them. “Figure it would scare any smuggler into trying to run or disapparate.”

“Okay,” Harry nodded. Sounded easy enough. “Got Aurors at all the exits he could go to?”

Ron nodded, still smiling. “Nice to be finally getting somewhere.”

“Yeah,” Harry agreed, returning the smile before standing near the entrance on the inside of the bank. The goblins didn’t pay him any mind. “How long have we got?”

“Supposedly he was on his way.”

In a way, Harry was thrilled to get a break in the case. But he did wonder how much longer he had in that flat. Should enjoy it while it lasted, right? At least, the weekend nights. He would not miss working at the Department for Transport.

The smuggler couldn’t have made it more obvious than if he’d just come up to Harry and asked to be arrested. As soon as he walked in, his hand snapped on his bag and he ran right back out. Harry and Ron exchanged glances and ran after him.

They ran him down, following him out of the bank and into the streets. As expected, the smuggler ran straight for an alley, upon realizing he couldn’t disapparate, but quickly ducked a Stupefy directed his way. People in the crowded street shouted and screamed, shoving past one another to get out of the way of the Aurors. They kept the exits blocked, but the smuggler had vanished into the crowd.

“I got him!” Ron announced and shoved his way through the swirling cloaks. Harry ran to follow immediately, trying to find him as well.

“Where is he?!” Harry shouted over the noise.

“I lost him!” Ron shouted back.

Harry scanned the crowd, but, just as he turned, something sharp tore into his back, lodging between his ribs. He was shoved forward and he landed facedown on the ground.

Harry barely had enough time to comprehend people screaming and backing away.

“Harry!” Ron roared and was at his side in an instant. Harry’s glasses had landed some distance away. He blinked slowly, trying to clear his vision. “Fuck,” Ron’s voice lowered to a whisper and Harry’s eyes found the blurry figure kneeling over him. “It’ll be fine, Harry. Just… don’t move.”

That was not comforting at all. Harry could feel the sharp object still in his back and resisted his urge to push himself up. He could feel the blood seeping into his suit jacket.

Ron stood up. “I’m going to get a healer,” his voice was tight, but Harry heard shouting coming from the crowd.

“Move! Out of the way! Out of the – I’m a healer, dammit! Let me through!”

“Malfoy?!” Ron exclaimed. Harry hadn’t needed to see him to know exactly who that voice belonged to.

“Let me see him.”

“No. We’ll take him to St. Mungo’s.”

“You can’t move him in this condition!” Malfoy snapped. He quickly knelt next to Harry, as opposed to all the onlookers who were slowly backing away when they realized what was sticking out of Harry’s back. Malfoy flicked his wand, casting what Harry recognized as a stasis spell over the object and, mercifully, a pain-blocking spell. Pain-blocking spells were extremely temporary, which was why people favoured potions and salves, but for an emergency situation, he was glad someone could cast a potent enough one that Harry only felt the oddness of the object shoved between his ribs – not the pain.

Malfoy looked a bit different than Harry remembered – healthier was probably the best word to describe it. His hair was styled differently and his face was full and slightly pink as opposed to the hollow, grey-tinged face Harry had grown used to during their last two years. Harry supposed it was probably his expression that was different. He looked neither desolate nor arrogant. He looked… thoughtful? Concerned? Annoyed was definitely there. Harry recognized that one. But it wasn’t actually directed at him. For once.

“Don’t move, Potter.”

Even in this condition, Harry was inclined to be short with his boyhood rival. “Yes, because moving was my first inclination,” he retorted sarcastically, though he made and effort to keep his body limp.

“Do you even listen when I speak?” The sneer was back, but it didn’t have the same malice behind it that it used to. “I’m not talking to myself. Don’t move. That means don’t talk!”

“Can’t we just vanish it?” Ron asked, voice tinged with worry.

“Merlin, Weasley. Did you ever even open a book?” The contempt in Malfoy’s voice didn’t seem entirely meant, either. He sounded almost like Hermione getting both frustrated and exasperated with Ron. Though he was considerably more condescending. What a bizarre situation. “You can’t vanish erumpent horns! Otherwise the species wouldn’t be going extinct, would it? Potter’s bloody lucky it didn’t explode on impact.”

It was an erumpent horn? Harry’s mind was suddenly plagued with images of Xenophilius Lovegood’s home exploding. Was that going to be Harry? There were going to be pieces of Harry all over Diagon Alley. He could see it vividly now, the headlines – The Boy Who Exploded, the wizards and witches out on the street scraping bits of Harry from the stones, storeowners wiping his blood off the windows. Malfoy would probably still sneer and accuse Harry of messing up his robes.

“Then what can I do?” Ron seemed to be near panic as his options quickly dwindled and helplessness set in.

“Contact Healer Patil at St. Mungo’s. She’s in the Dai Llewellyn Ward. Get her here – I don’t care if it’s not her shift. Then contact someone to dispose of the horn safely if she can extract it.”

Harry saw Ron pale at the word “if” and he disapparated quickly.

“All right, Potter,” Malfoy turned back to him. “I need you to stay calm. You were lucky, but that horn is filled with Exploding Fluid. I’ve stopped it from seeping out, but it could already be in your blood.” Harry’s stomach turned to ice at this news, but he forced himself to remain absolutely still, his gaze finally locking with Malfoy’s. Malfoy looked pensive, but he spoke slowly, measured. The more he spoke, the less troubled and tense his expression became, until it was almost soft. It was something Harry had never seen before on his face. He tried to focus on that and not on his rather dangerous situation. “I can’t cast any spells or risk exploding the horn. Healer Patil may be young, but she’s an expert. She did her residence in Africa, studying creature injuries.”

Harry finally realized what Malfoy was doing – the gentle expression, the careful, promising words. He was trying to comfort Harry in a way. He had a bedside manner. Malfoy had a bedside manner. He’d never imagined Malfoy being a professional. So he really was a healer. This was very, very bizarre. But, somehow, Harry wasn’t terribly upset about it. He didn’t mean the erumpent horn sticking out of his back – he was very upset about that. But that Malfoy was the healer who happened to be around to assist him. After all, Malfoy had saved him once before. And he’d thought Malfoy a lot of things before in the past, but incompetent was not one of them.

Harry tore his gaze away from Malfoy’s to look at anything else to break the surreal moment. Interesting, Harry thought, realizing he saw trousers beneath the hem of Malfoy’s robes. And fortunate. Harry wasn’t at a bad angle for seeing a good amount under Malfoy’s robes. When had Malfoy started wearing Muggle trousers?

“After she extracts the horn,” Malfoy’s voice was certain now, contrasting with the and urgency for Ron, “do not move at all. You’ll need a few blood purifying spells and then you’ll be transferred to St. Mungo’s for further recovery. Since we’ll need to fix that nice gaping hole in your back,” Malfoy turned sharply and Harry caught the shapes of people near him. “Would you get back?!” He snapped angrily at the crowd. “If this thing explodes, there will be a dozen bodies instead of two!”

Everyone backed up.

That was new, too. Not the snapping, of course. But that Malfoy wasn’t backing up with everyone else.

With little else to do, Harry’s gaze flicked up to Malfoy’s, trying to catch his eyes. He needed to know what he would see there – worry? Optimism? Did his chances look good or bad? But, as always, even though he managed to stare into Malfoy’s grey eyes, he found nothing there. At least nothing that helped him figure out his fate.

Ron appeared seconds later and Harry vaguely thought he must have taken down the wards preventing apparition. Parvati Patil was beside him wearing lime green healer’s robes.

“What did you do, Malfoy?” Parvati asked, kneeling next to Harry.

“I didn’t do anything!” He snapped back defensively.

“I meant,“ Parvarti’s tone was long-suffering, “what spells have you used so far?”

“Oh,” Malfoy was definitely thrown off by her treatment. “Pain-blocking and stasis.”

Parvati didn’t say a word as she examined Harry. He felt her hands gently, but firmly, touching the area on his back around the wound. “He’s very lucky. This has happened before. Most notably with Wilfred Elphick. Still, this is very dangerous – there’s sometimes a small amount of time between an impact and an explosion, or the impact agitates it and a small disturbance could set it off,” she was talking to herself in a quiet voice as she moved to the other side of Harry. “Sometimes, an erumpent’s horn tip isn’t as explosive as the base. Has to do with the growth – on older erumpents, it loses its volatility. However,” she mused, “that means the base could still be quite explosive. Malfoy, show me your hands.”

Harry glanced up, only able to see Malfoy who had remained on his side. Malfoy held up his hands for Parvati.

“It might work better with longer fingers,” Parvati said. “Harry, you’ll be fine,” she put her hand gently on his shoulder, but she returned to Malfoy. “We can’t levitate it out because the erumpent horn does react to magic. We should get it out quickly. Your fingers are pretty thin, Malfoy, so I need you to put your fingers on either side of the wound without touching any of the horn above the skin, if possible. Get as deep as you can and pull it out. I’ll take it as soon as it’s far enough out. Got it?”

“This sounds fun,” Malfoy deadpanned, but, to Harry’s surprise, he didn’t protest.

Harry had to agree with Malfoy’s sarcastic assessment. He was going to have Malfoy’s fingers inside him. And, honestly, no matter how revolting the idea of sex with Malfoy was, this was the only situation where Malfoy fingering him was actually preferred.

“It should be easy to pull out, just try to get your fingers under one of the ridges.”

Harry remained thankful for the pain-blocking spell. Maybe if he exploded, it wouldn’t hurt either. He heard a small squelching noise as he felt his wound widening. Harry tried not to grimace at the odd, but not at all painful, feeling of someone’s fingers digging into a wound in his back. Harry was able to catch Parvati leaning over and pulling Malfoy’s hands further apart by the wrists. They didn’t share any words, but he felt the horn slowly being drawn out of his back.

Parvati caught the tip of the horn with one hand and turned around, Ron already holding out a box for her to place it in. While she tucked it safely away, Malfoy looked down at Harry, holding his blood-soaked hands aloft. “Still no moving, Potter. We’re taking you to St. Mungo’s.”

Malfoy dropped a bloody hand on Harry’s shoulder and yanked him along in side-long apparition.

Malfoy’s precision couldn’t have been better. Harry was lying on a stretcher that was on the ground.

Parvati flicked her wand and both her hands and Malfoy’s were instantly clean. Then she pointed her wand at the stretcher and it levitated. “Harry Potter, Dangerous Dai Ward, erumpent horn, attending healers Parvati Patil and Draco Malfoy,” she started telling the woman at the desk as they walked past and a Quik Notes Quill began to move rapidly. “Horn removed and turned into ministry,” the parchment lifted and began to follow her. “No explosion on impact. Removed manually. Healer Malfoy first on scene, administered pain-blocking spell and stasis spell. Patient will be needing tissue and skin healing, blood-replenishing potion, blood purifying, and pain potion,” she paused. “Malfoy, can you hold him,” she flicked her wand, but Malfoy already had his wand pointed at the stretcher, keeping Harry aloft without jostling him whatsoever. Parvati looked down at Harry’s wound as they entered the lift. “We’ll put him in room 336. No visitors until healer permits.”

They exited the lift, not passing anyone in the halls, and a door swung open to admit them. However, the parchment disappeared in a flash.

“How are you feeling, Harry?” Parvati asked, grabbing vials from the small cabinet in the room.

“Fine,” he mumbled, trying to move his mouth as little as possible. And it was true. He didn’t feel any pain at all.

Parvati looked impressed. “That is an impressive pain-blocking spell, Healer Malfoy.”

Malfoy didn’t respond. Harry imagined he was having a hard time suppressing a comeback towards his colleague. Malfoy probably had good reasons to become adept at pain-blocking spells, considering he’d had Voldemort living in his house.

“Here, Harry, drink these,” Parvati held three vials in front of his face and she tilted them so he didn’t have to move his arms. “Healer Malfoy,” she said abruptly and Harry realized Malfoy had disappeared from his line of sight. “I want you here until Harry’s stabilized in case I have questions about your treatment before I got there.”

Harry saw a flick of lime green robes as Malfoy reappeared into view. But Harry’s eyelids were already growing heavy. He’d recognized one of the potions as a sleeping draught, another as a potion for pain. He wasn’t certain about the third. And he didn’t have much time to mull over it as he lapsed into a deep sleep.

Harry was in his Muggle flat, relaxed in a chair that faced the window to his neighbour’s house. Harry glanced down to flat across the way, a bit saddened that all the lights seemed to be turned off, but there was a sudden illumination from the bedroom. Harry was at the window in an instant when he realized the light was coming from the centre of the bedroom.

Then Harry was in the neighbour’s bedroom, standing at the foot of the bed, looking over his neighbour who was sprawled on his back on the bed. The light flickered a few times before Harry realized it was his false leg that was the light. It was covered with glass and the light didn’t seem to be magical in nature. It lit up the room, casting long shadows across the room and onto the man’s face. He moved his leg just slightly and revealed his neighbour was Draco Malfoy.

Harry was conscious this was a dream and he cursed having seen Malfoy that day and him being a blonde male like his neighbour. That was why he was stuck with this bloody dream. But his dream self didn’t care at all. At once, he knew Malfoy was naked on a bed and he was repulsed, but he also wasn’t restrained by his waking inhibitions. And, damn, if Malfoy didn’t look hot with his neighbour’s body.

Malfoy was propped up on his elbows, smirking up at Harry. But it wasn’t the usually condescending smirk directed at Harry. It oozed with sensuality and was directed to Harry as a challenge. Malfoy spread his legs, eyes still locked on Harry, inviting him in. The shadows around him shifted and swirled as Malfoy’s leg moved. Harry returned the smirk with a satisfied, confident smile of his own. When Harry crawled onto the bed, his clothes had disappeared. Malfoy pressed his false leg against Harry’s chest, keeping him from moving any closer. He slowly dropped his leg, finally resting against Harry’s hip, illuminating his swollen cock. Malfoy quirked an eyebrow, his thoughts ringing clear in Harry’s mind, ‘about time I got a good look.’

Malfoy flipped his legs around, shooting light into every corner until his headboard was illuminated. He rose to his knees, bringing his eye level to Harry’s. Malfoy’s lips parted slightly and he inhaled softly as his gaze raked down to Harry’s lips, planning exactly on how he would violate him. For a moment, they were frozen facing each other, Harry’s breath coming fast and his heart pounding. Both of their eyes slid over each other’s features rapidly, taking it all in.

Then Harry threw himself on Malfoy, clawing, desperate, crushing his lips against Malfoy’s. They were standing now, clawing at each other just outside the entrance to the Gryffindor common room. They practically fell through the porthole together, Harry’s hands sliding through Malfoy’s silky hair and Malfoy’s hands clutching the back of Harry’s robes, pulling their bodies closer together. Malfoy walked backwards through the passage, Harry’s hand slipping down to his neck as their lips lost purchase against each other. They stumbled for a mere millisecond before Malfoy’s hand grabbed the back of Harry’s hair and yanked them together.

Their noses bumped. Malfoy tilted his head without missing a beat, dipping down slightly to consume Harry’s mouth with ferocity. Harry’s body thrummed and burned, hot against Malfoy’s. They pulled apart slightly as they staggered over to the sofa in front of the fire. As soon as Malfoy fell backwards onto it, Harry was on top of him, their lips and tongues meeting again. Harry crawled over him and Malfoy grabbed his thighs, pulling him closer. Malfoy rolled underneath him, moving his legs on either side of Harry’s body.

“I want you, Malfoy.”

“Harry?”

Both Harry and Malfoy shot up at the sound of a voice coming from behind the sofa. It was Neville. Quite grown, but standing in the pyjamas he’d worn in first year. Harry rolled off Malfoy was quickly as possible, his face meeting the carpet.

Now Harry was lying face down in a bed. His neighbour was wearing Malfoy’s healer robes. He didn’t know why his dream kept insisting on putting Malfoy where his neighbour was, but he stopped caring. His neighbour’s back was to him, leaning over a table. Harry smiled to himself, enjoying the view, despite the robes covering his firm arse. Harry reached out and stroked the top of his neighbour’s thigh and up to squeeze his arse. It was just as delectable as he’d imagined.

“POTTER!”

Harry’s eyes shot wide open now.

The Malfoy in front of him had turned on him, mouth hanging open as his eyes threatened to pop out of his head.

“Malfoy?” Harry asked hesitantly, quickly becoming aware this was not a dream. Had he just…?

“Did you just grab my arse?” Malfoy’s voice was strained, like he couldn’t even believe his own words.

Harry was mortified. Please someone walk through that door. Or let the ground swallow him whole. Or in part – as long as that part included his head. Or, perhaps, maybe he could no longer be known as the Boy Who Lived, but, rather, the Boy Who Proved You Could Die Of Embarrassment. “Sorry!” Harry sat up quickly, pleased to note there was only a slight twinge in his back. “I thought you were-“ a dream? He couldn’t say that! Malfoy would ask why Harry wanted to grab his arse in a dream! “-my boyfriend.”

Well, at least it was a consistent lie.

But Malfoy’s eyes got no smaller. “Your boyfriend?”

Oh. Malfoy didn’t know. Had he really been that isolated from the Wizarding World? “Collecting flies, Malfoy?” Harry raised his eyebrows, fighting down his embarrassment and trying to replace it with attitude. “Yes. My boyfriend. He’s got blonde hair, too.”

“You have a boyfriend?”

“I’m not sure which word you’re getting stuck on.”

Malfoy’s expression shifted from one of shock to a scowl. Which was a shame. Harry had quite liked the look on him. “The one where you suddenly starting riding a broomstick off the pitch, Potter,” he sneered.

“Oh, I haven’t heard that one before,” Harry replied sarcastically.

“You really thought your boyfriend would be in your room wearing healer’s robes?”

“I was half asleep,” Harry brushed off the question.

“I’d never be asleep enough to make that mistake,” Draco snarled and circled around to the door. “Sweet dreams, Potter,” he slammed the door shut behind him.


	6. Bloody Apologies

Harry Potter had grabbed his arse. _Harry Potter. Harry Potter_ grabbed _Draco Malfoy’s_ arse. Potter was gay. And he’d grabbed Malfoy’s arse.

 

Pansy was watching him pace her dining room, her legs crossed and her previously impatient expression melting away. She had thirty minutes before her date, so Draco knew he would have to leave soon. But he had to talk to someone and this was a subject he couldn’t share with just anyone. “Well, was it like a brush of his hand or like he wanted to have his way with you?”

 

“The second one.”

 

Pansy’s painted lips curled into a smirk. “I always knew he had a thing for you,” she announced smugly. “I mean, what were all those fights about anyways?”

 

Draco rolled his eyes. “You knew? You knew Potter was gay?”

 

“Not gay. Potter plays both teams,” Pansy corrected him, looking over her nails, which was exactly what she did every time she was extremely interested in the conversation, but didn’t want Draco to know it. “Merlin, when did Malfoy Manor become the rock you lived under?”

 

Apparently it had been big news a while back. Draco had stopped reading papers completely and, for some reason, none of his friends had brought it up to him. So, apparently Potter’s sexuality was a surprise to no one but Draco. He didn’t know why that made him feel resentful.

 

However, Draco had a right to be shocked that Potter had put his hand on his arse. No one could deny that. Even more surprising – Potter had sent him owls. Draco had read the first one, since he couldn’t quite quash his curiosity. Of course, it was exactly what one could expect from Gryffindor’s Golden Boy – a thank you for saving his life and an apology. Draco had scoffed and tossed it in the bin immediately. He didn’t open any more of the letters.

 

Potter’s actions had been so distracting, Draco found himself at work on Friday with no idea what he was going to do that evening. It wasn’t that he felt any sort of obligation to his neighbour – on the contrary, Draco did it mostly for himself. He looked forward to Friday nights. It was the best sex he’d ever had. And that included with partners. Who knew wanking could be more than just a quick one off in the shower or under the sheets? He’d only gotten extravagant since he knew he had an audience. And it was loads better that way. A few times he’d been hit by inspiration, but now…

 

“Malfoy.”

 

Draco stiffened. He knew that voice. What was he doing in his ward? He wouldn’t bother asking how. They’d let Potter in anywhere. He didn’t turn to face him. “Go away, Potter.”

 

“I wouldn’t be here if you didn’t avoid my owls.”

 

Malfoy scowled and turned on him, momentarily choking on his words. Potter was dressed in a green button-down shirt and slim black trousers. Draco didn’t expect that was typical auror attire. Had he been granted the ability to dress himself when he’d come out? “I’ve been avoiding your owls for a reason.”

 

“Would you let me apologize?” Potter returned his glare.

 

“It would give you peace of mind. So, no.” It was petty. It was childish. And Draco had sworn he’d grown up and matured. Potter just brought it out in him. “I read one of your letters besides. I know you’re sorry,” Draco turned back around to his work. Or, rather, pretended he was working. He’d just been checking up on the patients, but he instead grabbed a stack of parchment and shuffled through it.

 

“I told you! I thought you were my boyfriend! It was a mistake!”

 

Draco let out an annoyed sigh. “Is that what you came here to do? Repeat that you had a boyfriend? I really don’t care, Potter.”

 

“What? No. That’s not what this is about. Just that you saved my life and I wanted to thank you as well. And I was a bit curious to here what you were doing now,” Draco glanced at him just to see Harry looking around the ward.

 

“Oh, so I’m a curiosity now?” Draco scowled at him. “This isn’t a sight-seeing ward, Potter.”

 

“I know,” Harry said quickly. “Right. I’ll be going, then.”

 

“Bye,” Draco said sharply.

 

By the time Draco got back to his flat, he was fuming. “Who the hell does Potter think he is?! He can’t just come traipsing into my ward – into my place of work!” He was ranting at nothing as he paced, pulling off pieces of clothing one by one, scarf getting discarded in the hall, coat on the back of the chair, robe and shoes in the entry. “He thinks he can get away with everything just because he’s the Saviour! You don’t see me going into the Auror’s offices to thank him for saving my life!” He said pointedly to the kitchen. “Wine. I need wine,” he yanked open the cabinets. “No, something stronger,” he muttered and grabbed the bottle of firewhiskey and a tumbler. “I mean – he sends me all those owls. What was that about? He said he was sorry and he said thank you and he should just leave it alone. And he was CURIOUS about where I worked?” He stopped swinging the bottle around to pour himself a hefty amount. He downed it immediately. “He’s just like everyone else! Can’t believe I’m an actual human being! I’ve been a pretty terrible human being. I’ll give him that. But I was a child! Like we were all perfect when we were children? Of course Potter was,” Draco snapped and ignored the tumbler to just drink straight from the bottle. 

 

This was crazy. He hadn’t ranted about Potter in a long time. He shouldn’t have been so angry. He saved Potter’s life. Potter grabbed his arse. End of story. Except he had liked it. More than just a little. It was more action than he’d gotten in a long time. “It’s been so long even Potter seems like a viable option,” he hissed. Maybe he should just ask that neighbour across the street on a date. Better than Potter. He flopped back onto the couch and drank more of the burning liquid. For once he was glad it wasn’t smooth. He needed the burn.

 

He stared out the window at nothing in particular. He wasn’t sure how long he was there before he put the bottle down. “I’m done thinking about this,” he muttered and stood up. “All right, neighbour. You’re going to get yourself a show.”

 

Draco turned down the shades in the main room and walked into the corridor. He pulled out his wand and transfigured his leg back into the black version. It was a different feeling when he used that one – he’d only done it one or two other times. When it was black, it was obvious it wasn’t part of him – he couldn’t pretend it was his real leg. And sometimes he needed that. Maybe it reminded him he was a different person than before, gave him some separation. Or maybe he just liked how it looked. He didn’t have a leg, but how many other people could transfigure parts of their body? Other than a metamorphmagus. And without Polyjuice Potion. Glamours didn’t really count and the last two were extremely temporary anyways. His reasoning was stretching thin, so he shook the thoughts out of his head.

 

*

 

Harry had grabbed Malfoy’s arse. And he’d liked it. He’d spent all week thinking about it. Thinking about the fantasy he’d had. His brush with death was almost terrifyingly typical for Harry. But having a vivid sexual fantasy about Malfoy and groping his bum was decidedly not.

 

It was just because Malfoy had probably saved his life, Harry told himself. That must be why he was having fantasies about him. Unfortunately, yes, that was fantasies plural. Ever since his sleep at the hospital, nearly every night was plagued with dreams of his neighbour. Except his neighbour was Malfoy instead of some blonde Muggle bloke. Maybe he did need a boyfriend. A decidedly real one.

 

Yes, Malfoy saving his life was why he imagined licking chocolate off Malfoy’s fingers. Or having Malfoy up against a wall. Or in his neighbour’s bath. Or Malfoy sucking Harry off in a broom cupboard. Or that he imagined being back on that hospital bed, moving his hand from Malfoy’s arse, slipping around to his hips, fingertips firmly grasping the indentations of muscle. Malfoy tipping his head back, letting out a soft breath as Harry leaned his forehead on the small of his back. Malfoy flipping around and threading his fingers through Harry’s hair. Harry palming him through his robes and Malfoy letting out a small whine. The scenario tended to branch out from there. The last one involved Malfoy climbing on top of him and grinding against him until they both came.

 

Saved his life. That made complete sense.

 

He’d figured he might have been getting these images because he had neither properly thanked or apologized to Malfoy, but the damned wanker wouldn’t answer any of his letters! Eventually, he’d been desperate enough to go to the ward, spouting some nonsense about wanting to see Malfoy’s place of work.

 

What a mess of a week. The only silver lining was that, since the case was still on-going, Harry got to return to his Muggle flat.

 

His neighbour was definitely part of the reason Harry was having these dreams, but he couldn’t bring himself to care: not that it might prevent the fantasies from going away, not that it was an invasion of privacy. He just wanted a little stress relief.

 

But Harry was leaning on the glass of his window, glancing over at his neighbour’s place at eleven. No lights. He sighed and collapsed on the couch. He just needed to give his neighbour some time.

 

It was nearly midnight and his neighbour wasn’t in the bathroom. Harry stared intently, trying to will the lights on, only to be met by another dim light coming on in the adjacent room. His neighbour’s bedroom. The man was dressed in a Muggle suit and he all but collapsed on the bed face first. Had he just gotten home?

 

_He needs his rest. There won’t be any show tonight._

 

Harry was disappointed, of course, and absolutely mortified that he thought of the man’s private sexual life as a show for a second time. But at least he had an excuse not to watch now. He dropped his invisibility cloak, certain he couldn’t be seen in his dark room anyways.

 

But the curtains didn’t drop and the man squirmed against the bed sheets, rolling his hips against them. Apparently the man didn’t like his schedule changed, either. His neighbour pulled his hips up and back, face still firmly planted on the bedsheets, but his hand was deftly undoing his trousers now. Harry hurried to get his own trousers open.

 

The man flipped backwards onto his bed and Harry caught a glimpse of light blonde hair. Harry didn’t think much of it as his neighbour reached over into the nightstand, he rummaged for a moment and then pulled out more things than Harry was expecting to see. One of them was a slim object, similar to the one he had on the second night Harry had watched him – yet somehow different. It was already dripping with a clear substance. Was it… vibrating? Harry’s mouth went dry and he had to fight to keep his hand away from his hardening cock.

 

The man kicked off his pants, but didn’t bother to push them off the bed. His black false leg was back. His shirt was next to go. There was no tie today, Harry noted and his neighbour didn’t remove his leg as usual. Without any sort of prompt, his neighbour spread his legs and was pushing the tapered end inside him. When only a fourth of it was left sticking from his body, he grabbed the second object he’d drawn from the nightstand – rope. It was already knotted and he slipped one hand through before threading it through a slat on the headboard on his bed. Oh, Harry’s interest was more than piqued now. He was tying himself up to masturbate? The man put his hand through the other loop and pulled on a piece of it, pulling the rope tight around both wrists.

 

He adjusted him self, moving further onto the bed, to such an angle that Harry couldn’t get a good look at his face, and kept his legs spread. Harry could see his hard cock laying heavily on his abdomen. His neighbour lifted his lips and brought them back down, the edge of the toy catching on the bed so that it moved inside him. Harry reached down and pulled the precum that had formed on the tip of his erect prick and drew it down over the shaft, pleased with the copious amount that greeted him, making his erection wet and glistening.

 

His neighbour was now wriggling against the bed in different directions, experimenting with how it pressed against the toy firmly trapped inside him. His head snapped back and his fake leg kicked out as his body trembled. Harry watched him pull on his bonds, but they didn’t give. Harry wasn’t going to last long watching him like this.

 

He managed to pull his leg back up, though Harry watched them tense as he rolled his hips again. His legs snapped together suddenly, but he forced them apart as his small thrusting motions became increasingly more erratic. The man’s hands reached behind him, desperately searching for purchase on the headboard. He found it and his fingers curled around the dark wood in a vice-like grip. His legs shook and the man pressed his lips against the inside of his bicep. His mouth seemed to be open as his breath came out in pants against the soft skin of his arm.

 

His hips shot up and his jaw clamped down as his cum came in spurts over his chest. Harry soon followed suit. His neighbour’s body slumped and he took a few long breaths before he untied his hands, dropping them limply at his sides. He tugged at the blanket on his bed and pulled it over himself, seeming perfectly content to sleep with his lights on and cum on his chest. That was a man Harry could get behind. Literally, he hoped someday. 

 

*

 

“Merlin, Draco, your wrists! This boyfriend of yours is insatiable!”

 

Draco barely looked up, just managed to glance at the wrist of the hand that was supporting his head as he ate dinner with Pansy. He dropped his arm and let his sleeve fall back over it. He would need to remember to heal that later so no one else noticed. But he did feel a little satisfaction that he had some sort of evidence and Pansy was not at all in doubt that this boyfriend was real.

 

His mind had been too occupied to remember healing. He had caught a glimpse of his neighbour across the way the night before. The man was definitely there. Definitely watching. And definitely absolutely enthralled with what Draco was doing. It was all the encouragement he needed. He’d been very close to giving up on his little project. It was terribly tedious to go through all this effort for no one to be watching. But now he knew. And, to be honest, it was fantastic. Draco didn’t think much on his leg often. It had been five years. He’d learned to live with it. But he did always wonder how potential sexual partners would feel about it. And he worried about it constantly. Would he have to tell them about it when they first started dating? Certainly before they had sex, otherwise that might be quite a shock. Would he want to wait to tell him? If he told him right away, he might get rejected. But, if he waited, hoping that his partner would like Draco enough that he could live with it, he’d have to postpone sex. That sounded simple. But it was decidedly not. Or, was his worrying all for nothing? Was he completely off base? Would people actually have no problem with it at all? It seemed so, judging on his neighbour’s reactions.

 

Having someone watch him with such fascination was doing wonders for his self-confidence. 

 

“You should tell him to go easy on you. What if people at work start noticing? Wouldn’t that be a scandal?” Pansy cocked an eyebrow.

 

Draco sighed, wishing he wasn’t absolutely lying about having a boyfriend. “People aren’t going to notice. If anyone does, it would be my patients, wouldn’t it? And they’re not too keen on sharing secrets anyways.”

 

“When do I get to meet him?”

 

“Never,” Draco snapped back, but there was no malice behind it.

 

“Afraid I’m going to steal your kinky foreign boyfriend?” Pansy grinned, sipping on her drink. “Are you going to tell him about Potter?”

 

Draco frowned. “Why would I tell him about that prat? You think it’s going to scare him away that I hate some English Golden Boy?”

 

“No, I mean, are you going to tell him about Potter grabbing your arse?”

 

Oh. “No. That’s- I’m over it. I don’t want to think about it anymore.”

 

“Awww… sweetie, don’t be upset,” Pansy put her hand over his.

 

Draco glared and pulled his hand away. “I have to go to work,” he muttered and stood up, walking away without saying goodbye. It wasn’t untrue. He did have a late night shift at St. Mungo’s. He had plenty of time. But it was a good an excuse as any.

 

The shift, unfortunately, was very quiet. No little emergency to keep his mind occupied. Just a bunch of sleeping patients. And there was only so many times he could clean up and rearrange the limited furniture of the ward. He needed to stop thinking about… _The Incident._

Great. Now he was giving it a title in his mind. He needed to actively work against thinking about it. Which only made him think about it more.

 

When he returned home, he was just as mentally exhausted as he was physically exhausted. It took a lot of effort to not think of something. More effort than to think about it, really.

 

He stumbled through his front door and tossed his coat off. He almost tripped trying to get out of his wet boots and had to catch himself on the door frame. When he’d finally escaped his left shoe, there was a light knock at his door.

 

Draco groaned aloud and turned back around, already angry at the intruder for keeping him from his bed a moment longer. He opened the door and straightened immediately when he saw his mother standing in the corridor. He tried to smooth his hair and clothes quickly so his mother wouldn’t notice.

 

Unlikely.

 

“Draco, are you about to head off to… St Mungo’s?” Her pause was likely from the difficulty of addressing her son having a job. She tended to do that. She staunchly refused to use the word “work” or “job” when talking about it.

 

“Just got back,” he sighed, barely holding himself up without the support of the door which he was leaning against. He realized at her odd expression that he hadn’t invited her in. He quickly opened the door and stepped out of the way. She did so, frowning at his haphazardly scattered coat and shoes. She pointed her wand and they arranged themselves in the proper order before she dropped her coat on the coat rack.

 

“Is something wrong?” He asked hesitantly. She didn’t seem to be frightened or panicked, but she was definitely… perturbed.

 

She walked past him and into his drawing room. "This came for you,” she passed off an envelope, not looking as she did so.

 

Draco frowned and looked down at him. It only had his name on it, but Draco recognized the handwriting immediately.

 

Potter was sending letters to the Malfoy Manor!?

 

“I opened it,” she stated flatly, still browsing around the room.

 

Draco flipped the envelope over and saw the seal unbroken. But his mother was very good at resealing letters.

 

“I thought it best so your father didn’t get to it first,” she paused as Draco opened the letter. Speaking aloud just as he read the same words. “It seems Harry Potter has asked you out to dinner.”

 

“What?!”

 

She turned to look at him now, one eyebrow carefully arched as she glanced him over. When she was satisfied, she said, “good. You seem just as shocked as I am.”

 

Draco read over it again to be sure and threw it down on the table near the door.

 

“Care to tell me why, Draco?” Her voice was calm, but her tone was dangerous.

 

Draco sighed heavily. “I saved that stupid prat’s life.”

 

Her eyebrows shot up.

 

“He got hurt. I’m a healer. Happened to be in Diagon Alley at the time,” he tried to brush it off. “I’ve been trying to avoid him all week.”

 

“Go to dinner with him, Draco,” she regarded him seriously.

 

Draco frowned, but he knew better than to question his mother.

 

“Perhaps he could prove to be a valuable friend like Mr. Longbottom. I already sent a response accepting on your behalf,” she said smoothly and strolled over to the door. “And, Draco,” she turned just as she got to the door. “We should have dinner soon.”

 

“Of course,” he smiled back at her and she left.

 

Well, now he was just going to have to kill Potter, wasn’t he? Sending a letter to his house?! Harry Potter the Boy Who Lived Until He Sent a Letter to Draco Malfoy’s Mum.

 

What the hell did Potter want from this dinner anyways?


	7. Fifth Worst Dinner

“What the hell do you want from this dinner, Potter?” Draco spat, standing just at the edge of the table in the Muggle restaurant Potter had invited him to.

 

Potter didn’t even bat an eye. He was already seated and sipping on a glass of water, since Draco had decided to be more than fashionably late. If Potter wanted to see him so bad, he could wait for it. However, Potter seemed utterly unperturbed by it, which was twice as frustrating to Draco as this entire dinner. “It’s good to see you, too, Malfoy.”

 

“You send letters to my work and then to Malfoy Manor?!” Draco hissed and leaned over the table, palms flat against the surface to support himself.

 

“That is where you live, isn’t it?” Potter asked calmly.

 

“No, Potter, it’s not,” Draco snapped back with some satisfaction. It was nice to see the small amount of surprise on Potter’s stupid expression. After a moment, he realized people in the restaurant were watching him, so he slid into the seat across from Potter.

 

It wasn’t a bad restaurant – it was the type of restaurant that someone who didn’t know what a real nice restaurant was went to. Or the type of restaurant someone would go to if they didn’t know whether to have a fancy or casual atmosphere. It wasn’t offensive in its very nature, but it was making Draco irrationally angry regardless. What was Potter’s intention bringing him here?

 

Everything was making Draco irrationally angry, really. For example, when exactly had Potter learned to dress himself? And why couldn’t he do it without being so… Potter about it? His trousers were nice, but they still looked to be a size too big. And he wore a really nice cardigan and had the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, which was, admittedly, quite a good look for him. But it was still a cardigan. Potter still managed to dress for comfort even when he looked nice. And that pissed Draco off.

 

“Explain, Potter, or I’m walking out of here right now,” Draco glared at him, but kept his voice down so people didn’t give them odd looks.

 

“I just wanted to thank the person who saved my life.”

 

Draco just intensified his glare and Potter’s light, slightly smug expression fell with a sigh.

 

“Fine, Potter,” Draco narrowed his eyes. “You’re paying. And I’m going to need a drink if I’m going to survive this,” he raised his hand to summon the wait staff over so he could order something tasteful, but much stronger than wine or champagne. After he ordered, he continued, “it’s probably better to not talk if we want to get through this dinner at all.”

 

Potter ordered a drink as well, his good mood clearly disintegrated. “Figured I couldn’t have a decent conversation with you,” Potter grumbled.

 

“Why would you want to?” Draco sneered. “We hate each other, right?”

 

Potter frowned and they both looked away from each other in the silence that followed. When the drinks came, Potter took his quickly and nearly drained it in one go before ordering another. Draco did the same, finishing off his glass in seconds.

 

“I don’t hate you,” Potter said after nearly five minutes of silence. “Can’t believe you’re so childish,” he scoffed. “I’ve moved on from school. About time you did.”

 

Potter was accusing him of not moving on?! “You think I haven’t moved on?” He tapped his chest with his hand for emphasis. “I’ve moved on! I came to this bloody dinner!” He wasn’t going to mention his mother had accepted the invitation for him. “I work at St. Mungo’s! I have a Muggle flat! And you think I haven’t moved on?!”

 

Potter’s eyebrows shot up. “Is that why you came here? To prove that you’ve moved on?”

 

Draco scowled. “Isn’t that why you invited me?” He snapped, but Potter didn’t offer a response.

 

“You have Muggle flat?” Potter asked after a pause.

 

Draco rolled his eyes and scoffed. “Forget it, Potter.”

 

“I’ve been living in a Muggle flat for the past few months.”

 

What was Potter trying to do? Start a conversation? Why? Draco was going to send a scathing response his way, but his eyes slipped down again to look at Potter’s arms and chest. A nice conversation with Potter wasn’t going to end up with them falling in bed together, but it was much harder to sneer when his gaze wasn’t on Potter’s face. Oh Merlin. He was hot for Potter?!

 

“Look, Malfoy, we’ve done enough of saving each other’s lives to try a do over on this whole,” he made a vague motion between them, “thing, don’t you think? I’m not the same person I used to be. And it doesn’t seem like you are, either.”

 

Draco pressed his lips together. Perhaps Potter was right. There were definitely different feelings between them. He didn’t hate Potter like he used to. And, well, he’d given Potter a bit of a look over several times already. Potter had somehow managed to become attractive in the past five years. And he was willing to extend an olive branch. After all, he and Neville had reconciled. Maybe there was some hope for him and Potter to at least not be at each other’s throats. “For that smuggling case?” He finally asked, avoiding Potter’s question all together.

 

“What?”

 

“You’re living in the Muggle flat for the case?” Draco asked without looking at him, instead examining the menu. It would be easier to be pleasant if he could pretend he wasn’t talking to Potter.

 

Potter grimaced. “You know about that?”

 

“Heard about it from Doctor Patil,” he couldn’t bring himself to say her first name. In truth, most of it Draco had figured out on his own. No one carried around an erumpent horn unless they were somehow involved in smuggling. And a legal distributer certainly wouldn’t be chased by aurors and end up stabbing one in the back.

 

“No one else knows, do they? If it starts getting around, it could ruin the case.”

 

Draco brushed off his concern. “No. And you needn’t worry, Potter. Confidentiality and all that.”

 

“Draco Malfoy the doctor. Never expected that,” Potter commented, looking down at his own menu now.

 

“Maybe that’s because I’m a healer, Potter,” Draco sneered, but his eyes wandered over to Potter’s empty glass. “How much have you had to drink?”

 

“Just that one,” Potter shrugged casually. “Don’t even feel anything.”

 

“Why not? Drink,” Draco ordered them both another drink with their food. He wouldn’t have Potter drinking less than him. “Might be more tolerable when you’re drunk.”

 

“We’re doing just fine, Malfoy,” Potter muttered under his breath, tone strained for patience.

 

“Hardly. This is the third worst dinner I’ve had in the past five years,” Draco muttered under his breath.

 

“Third worst? Then we can’t be doing so bad.” Draco wasn’t sure if Potter’s tone was sincere or sarcastic.

 

“Wouldn’t count on it, Potter,” Draco said as their second round of drinks was brought to them. Draco quickly drained his glass.

 

"So you've got a boyfriend,” Draco commented casually after several minutes of silence.

 

Potter groaned, but seemed to take to the new conversation. "Not you, too."

 

"Not me what?" Draco frowned.

 

"You're going to interrogate me about him."

 

"No," Draco scowled, suppressing a roll of his eyes. He took a moment to stare down at his empty glass. What did it matter if Potter knew? The entire Wizarding World already hated him. "I was trying to break the ice to say I'm bi, too. Well, mostly gay, I guess. But I was into Pansy when I was with her. But no other woman since, so I'm not entirely clear on how to define it." Draco knew he was babbling and he knew he was coming out to Potter. And he knew this could go wrong in so many ways - Potter could tell everyone if he wanted. Someone could overhear. But drink had loosened his tongue a bit and Potter was bisexual, too, so he wouldn’t be a complete arse and out him, would he? And Potter wanted this whole ‘do over’ thing.

 

But Potter was just staring at him. Draco stared back, impatience and nerves churning in his stomach.

 

"Dammit, Potter, would you say something?"

 

"How much have you had to drink?" Potter's tone was incredulous.

 

"You’ve seen exactly how much I’ve had to drink,” Draco scowled in annoyance and prodded his empty glass. “So, is your boyfriend hot?” Draco asked casually, though he was far too interested in Potter’s boyfriend to be entirely healthy. “I’m assuming since you mistook me for him, he must be.”

 

Once again, Potter stared at him blankly for a long moment, but he finally relaxed and leaned back in his seat. “I think he’s pretty hot,” Potter shrugged. “But I’m much more interested in how you ended up as a healer at St. Mungo’s.”

 

Draco was pretty sure that was a deflection. And he wasn’t going to let it slide. “Don’t want to talk about your boyfriend, Potter? Why not? Did you make him up?” He accused, but it was empty. Potter wouldn’t have to make up a boyfriend, since he was the Wizarding World’s Most Eligible Bachelor (which appeared in his mind without the usual dripping sarcasm that accompanied those words), but he knew it would work to outrage Potter.

 

“Fine. Don’t want to talk about yourself. Fine,” Potter shook his head. “I don’t want to talk about him because I always get interrogated about him. Constantly. By everyone,” he punctuated for emphasis.

 

“Everyone?” Draco raised his eyebrow sceptically. He was feeling a little better thanks to the alcohol and perhaps a little less inhibited. He, of course, had all his faculties, but the situation felt less terrible. “I doubt Miss Weasley would want to hear about your conquests.”

 

“Oh, she’s terrible,” Potter grumbled, but his response was a bit emphatic regardless. “She’s always trying to figure out my ‘thing.’”

 

“Wow.” How could Weasley not know his thing? Draco knew it and he hadn’t dated Potter! Draco snorted and raised his hand to get another round of drinks for them. Potter choked suddenly and Draco frowned at him in confusion. Potter waved his hand to let him know he was all right and Draco continued. “She doesn’t know your thing?”

 

“There’s no such thing as a thing,” Potter said it with such practice and exasperation, it was clear he’d had this conversation dozens of times.

 

“’Course there is,” Draco took another drink when it arrived. “Everyone has a thing.”

 

“I don’t,” Potter said stubbornly.

 

“You don’t know your thing, Potter?” Draco narrowed his eyes incredulously. How could he not know his thing? “Let’s see… Cho Chang was with Cedric Diggory when you liked her-“

 

“You knew when I liked Cho Chang?”

 

“Don’t insult my intelligence, Potter. You were stumbling all over her fourth year,” he accused and then continued. “You liked Weasley when she was with Thomas. And, of course, she was the sister of your best friend, wasn’t she? Must have been a significant obstacle there.”

 

“And what about Luna? I did got to Slughorn’s party with her.”

 

“You weren’t interested in her. You just took her because you couldn’t take Weasley. And your backup, Granger, fell out, didn’t she?”

 

“You seem to know an awful lot about me, Malfoy,” Potter raised an eyebrow. His cheeks were a bit flushed now. Likely from the drinks.

 

“Shut up, Potter. Don’t you want to know your thing?”

 

“Enlighten me,” he held out his arms in invitation, a confident gesture that Draco enjoyed more than he should.

 

“And this bloke now. There was some reason you can’t- couldn’t have him, too, right?”

 

Draco watched with no small amount of satisfaction when Potter furrowed his brow, looking at nothing in particular. “Oh my god,” he said quietly.

 

“Your thing is what you can’t have,” Draco stated simply.

 

“It is, isn’t it?” Potter rested his chin in his hand, staring at his drink.

 

“Don’t look so solemn, Potter. It’s a type, not a death sentence.”

 

“I just never realized,” Potter shook his head and then locked eyes with Draco. Draco was a little startled by the initial intensity, but it dissolved quickly as Potter moved back into a casual posture. “What’s your type, then?”

 

“I figured out your type, but you can’t figure out mine,” Draco cocked an eyebrow. “Why don’t you try, Potter?” Draco was slightly disgusted with himself – he sounded very nearly… flirtatious. He’d meant it to come out as a challenge, not as a flirtation!

 

“That’s not fair. I didn’t pay nearly as much attention to your love life as you did to mine.”

 

Draco’s expression soured at the accusation. Potter paid just as much attention to Draco as Draco did to him! …Right? “I kept my love life a bit more private than you, Potter.”

 

Potter set his jaw. Draco had struck a nerve. Apparently he could do that to Potter even when he wasn’t trying. He was trying to keep this dinner pleasant, so he backpedaled just a bit. “Perhaps this is only the fifth worse dinner I’ve had.”

 

Potter glanced away for a minute, but quickly turned to the conversation. “In the past five years or overall?”

 

“Don’t flatter yourself,” Draco scoffed, his sixth and seventh years flashing through his mind. He quickly pushed them away. Thankfully, their meals were placed in front of them and Draco had a moment to refocus his attention elsewhere. “Of my entire life, this wouldn’t even make the top hundred.”

 

Potter seemed to sense the sudden tension because he smiled and said, “am I above or below that dinner with the troll in first year.”

 

Draco suppressed a smile in response. “You would be pleased to know this dinner happens to be better than that one. If only for the fact I have had a few drinks.”

 

“What were the other two dinners that were worse than this one?” Potter asked curiously.

 

“I told you. Fifth now. So there were four worse. And I don’t know you well enough to tell you about them,” Draco frowned. They weren’t exactly stories he cared to share. One was the dinner where he came out to his mother and father. And the other was when he’d been set up with a man who turned out to be a Death Eater sympathiser. That was horrible.

 

“It seems you know me pretty well, Malfoy,” Potter decided to be infuriating by pointing this out, though his tone was casual as he picked at his dinner with his fork.

 

“I was trying to be polite instead of saying I don’t like you enough to tell you.”

 

Potter didn’t say anything. He tapped his fork a couple times against his plate and they ate in silence for a few moments before Potter spoke. “You did a pretty good job dressing as a muggle.”

 

Draco supposed it was an attempt at a compliment, but it felt condescending. “I live in a muggle flat, Potter. That means my neighbours are muggles. That means I have to look like a muggle pretty much every day.”

 

“That was intended as a compliment.”

 

“Maybe you shouldn’t attempt anymore for the sake of keeping this dinner at fifth worst,” Draco suggested. He was only half joking, but Potter chuckled anyways, but Draco didn’t miss the roll of his eyes.

 

“What’s a safe topic, then?” Potter asked, frowning now. “School is off limits because that’s dangerous territory,” Potter took a quick bite. “Can’t talk about my work. Or yours. I’m not telling you about my boyfriend. We don’t have much in common. No compliments… topics are wearing a bit thin, aren’t they?”

 

“Work and brooding on the past. Is that all you have going on, Potter? I joke about you having nothing else all the time, but I didn’t expect to be right.”

 

“That’d be a first, wouldn’t it?” Potter said lightly and Draco chose to ignore it.

“And I do think we have things in common, Potter, otherwise we might not have always been at each other’s throats, would we?”

 

“Actually-“ Potter began, but stopped himself, thankfully. “Well, we both like Quidditch.”

 

“Been a long time since I’ve played,” Draco shrugged. “Or even seen a match.”

 

“Miss it?”

 

“All the time,” Draco tried to brush it off. He usually ignored the wistfulness at the thought of Quidditch and told himself he’d at least go flying next time he visited his parents.

 

Potter, being uncharacteristically perceptive, changed the subject. “You know, there is something else we have in common.”

 

Draco raised an eyebrow. He wasn’t terribly inclined to talk to Potter about it, but Potter was taking an innocent sip of water and Draco had to seize the opportunity. “All right. Ever had a threesome, Potter?”

 

Potter choked on his drink, spilling some in his lap. He grabbed a napkin while he was still coughing to clean it up. “You have got to be kidding, Malfoy!” He took a quick drink of water and caught his breath before narrowed his watery eyes at Draco. “You know that’s not what I mean when I say I’m bisexual, right? That’s not what it means.”

 

Draco felt too satisfied to respond to the glare, so he decided to look smug. “I know. But it is one of the perks, isn’t it?”

 

Potter shook his head, briefly glanced at the people watching them, and rolled his eyes. “I am so tired of people asking me if I’ve had a threesome. They think that’s all it’s about,” he muttered, seemingly to himself.

 

“It’s different coming from your own kind, though,” Draco pointed out.

 

Potter’s immediate reaction, of course, wasn’t a surprise. “You’re not my-“ he slammed his lips shut and paused, his expression changing. His brow furrowed, he amended, “I guess you are, aren’t you? At least…” He seemed to take a moment to consider. Draco stayed quiet this whole time, wondering exactly what Potter’s mind was working on. Now, he was a bit surprised when Potter finally settled on: “No. Have you?”

 

Draco wasn’t going to let him have the upper hand. “I don’t ménage a trois and tell.”

 

Potter smiled a little bit. “Your pronunciation is terrible.”

 

“And, what? You’re an expert in French, then?”

 

“Better than you, apparently. At least I can say ménage a trois.”

 

Potter was right. He did pronounce it better. But he wasn’t going to say that. “I didn’t learn French.”

 

“Did you learn a language?” Potter asked before he could finish.

 

“My father wanted me to got to Durmstrang, so I had a German tutor when I was young.”

 

“You know,” Potter was smiling, “I think that is the first time you’ve said ‘my father’ and I haven’t wanted to punch you.” Draco didn’t say anything to that. “So how do you say ‘threesome’ in German, then?”

 

Draco frowned. “Drei…some? I don’t know. You think a tutor would teach a ten year old how to say ‘threesome?’”

 

Blasted Potter was laughing just a bit now. So, this was Draco’s life now. He was talking to Potter about threesomes over dinner. Fantastic. And it hadn’t even made it into his top ten worst dinners now.

 

*

 

Harry had barely made it into his flat before he was rubbing himself through his trousers. He hurried to the bedroom, relieved that the curtains were already closed. Had Malfoy done that on purpose? Why was he dressed in Muggle clothes?!

 

It shouldn’t matter. Malfoy wasn’t supposed to look good in any sort of clothes. Harry had already spent every day thinking about how firm Malfoy’s arse had felt. He hadn’t wanted to know anything else about what was under Malfoy’s robes.

 

This was Malfoy! He shouldn’t be unbuttoning his trousers as he thought about the glimpse of the firm lines of his abdomen when he’d raised his hand to get the attention of the wait staff. And really, did Malfoy have to buy trousers that were one size too small? And he was pretty sure Malfoy wasn’t wearing any pants under his trousers. He tried not to read too much into that. After all, Malfoy probably just didn’t know about Muggle clothes. He probably didn’t think you needed to wear anything under well-fitting trousers.

 

Dammit.

 

He wanted to fight this. He really did. But… no one had to know he was thinking about Malfoy. And he didn’t know if he’d be able to stop himself from wanking now.

 

Still paranoid, Harry glanced around the room, as if to find someone ready to cast legilimens to find out who he was thinking about. He unzipped his trousers and slid his hand beneath the elastic of his pants, wrapping his hands around the base of his cock.

 

He pictured Malfoy as he looked at the restaurant – muggle clothes and styled hair. But he tried to picture something a little different. After all, if his neighbour could get adventurous with his wanking, why couldn’t he?

 

In his mind, Malfoy looked exactly as he did earlier, but they were at Hogwarts. They caught each other’s eye as they passed each other in the corridor and Harry quickly turned to follow him. There were people around them, but they were unimportant and meaningless. But Harry kept a close watch to make sure no one noticed he was tailing Malfoy. He paused when he realized he’d lost the blond in the effort to keep other people unawares. The back of his shirt was grabbed roughly and Harry was in a broom closet, with the door shut and locked behind him.

 

“Lumos,” Malfoy leered at him in the dim lighting and Harry smiled in response, imagining they were in some sort of secret relationship at Hogwarts. Malfoy, his secret boyfriend. He didn’t bother thinking about what year or how things were outside of them, but he realized Malfoy must be completely right about the ‘want what you can’t have’ thing. Was there any other time Malfoy would have been less available to him than at Hogwarts? And that was right where his fantasy had gone. “I’ve been trying to find you alone all day, Potter. Do you know how hard it is to catch you without your friends?”

 

“You talk too much,” Harry grinned, arms wrapping around Malfoy and pulling him close. Harry did his best to imagine what it felt like to hold Malfoy. He imagined it felt solid and firm. “And you’re a tease.”

 

“A tease?” Malfoy frowned, indignant.

 

“You’re not wearing any pants,” Harry pointed out with a smirk, catching Malfoy in a quick kiss. He imagined Malfoy returned it only slightly before pulling away.

 

“You don’t wear pants with trousers, Potter. It’s a redundancy.”

 

“You’re right,” Harry conceded, wanting to see more of Malfoy without any sort of underwear. He reached down and found Malfoy’s cock resting against his thigh, using his hand to brush the fabric against it. His mind supplied all the empty spots for Malfoy’s prick – he’d seen a few tantalizing outlines when Malfoy had moved at dinner.

 

“I like it when you say I’m right,” Malfoy quirked an eyebrow, urging him on.

 

“You’re right,” Harry said and fantasy Malfoy yanked open Harry’s trousers, his hand slipping under the waistband of his pants and his movements matching Harry’s in real life.

 

“Just for that, I’m going to suck you off, Potter,” Malfoy hissed in his ear and jerked his hips forward, rubbing their cocks together through the fabric. He rocked against Harry and they shared a deep kiss. Malfoy slipped down and traced the outline of Harry’s cock in his pants with his tongue. But Harry both imaginary and real felt a sense of urgency. Harry stumbled over to the bed and shoved his pants and trousers out of the way, freeing his prick as he slid into a seated position on the bed. Fantasy Harry pulled Malfoy upwards by that silk vest he’d been wearing at dinner and brought him into another kiss before pushing him back against the wall in the small room. He pushed his pants and trousers down like the real Harry, but only down to his thighs.

 

“Not now Malfoy. Maybe later,” Harry flipped Malfoy around and shoved his chest against the wall.

 

“You can’t be serious, Potter. We only have five minutes,” Malfoy muttered, but he didn’t protest. He let out a sigh as Harry’s hand slipped between the wall and Malfoy, palming him through his trousers before undoing his belt and pushing then down. “Fine. Make it quick, “ his voice was a little tight and breathless. Harry had never heard Malfoy sound like that, but it sounded amazing in his mind.

 

Harry quickly grabbed the lube from the nightstand and slicked his heavy, erect prick, smoothing his ministrations and making them much more rapid. Fantasy Harry did the exact same, though he retrieved the bottle from his pocket and rubbed his slick fingers against Malfoy’s hole a few times.

 

“Dammit, Potter,” Malfoy hissed, voice nearly a groan. “Five minutes, remember? Hurry.”

 

“We’ll be a few minutes late,” Harry said flippantly, but Malfoy cast a glance back at him.

 

“Not with McGonagall.”

 

“Fuck,” Harry muttered and moved his hand on Malfoy’s prick up to his abdomen and the other down to his down cock, lining it up with Malfoy’s entrance and pushing into him. Malfoy pressed his forehead against the wall and his fingers curled against the wood. Harry was disappointed he couldn’t imagine the sensation vividly – with only dull recollections of things in the distant past. But he could imagine Malfoy’s quiet intake of breath and the way he sounded when he said, “faster,” he let out a small grunt when Harry pulled out and thrust into him, “Potter. It takes – mm – nearly two minutes,” a muffled grunt that was very nearly a whine as Harry thrust again, “to get to – fuck – Transfiguration.” 

 

Harry slid one hand under Malfoy’s vest and rubbed at his nipple through his shirt and he began thrusting faster, his thighs meeting Malfoy’s firm arse over and over. Malfoy made a small noise in the back of his throat, but he grabbed Harry’s hand. “Don’t worry about that right now. Just… faster.”

 

Harry moved his hands down to grab Draco’s hips and pound into him as fast as his hips could move. In real life, Harry’s was fisting his cock as quickly as his hand would allow.

 

He made imaginary Malfoy much more vocal – suppressing moans and whines as Harry trust into his slick hole over and over again. Fantasy Malfoy came before he did, with a partially muffled cry that Harry was almost certain was his name, cum coating the wall in front of him. Real and fantasy Harry came at the same time, but one had cum splattered on his hand and chest and the other came inside Malfoy’s hot, tight body. 

 

And, for what was probably the twentieth time, Harry thought about asking out the bloke across the way. He really needed a boyfriend or girlfriend if his thoughts were on Malfoy now.


	8. New Years for the Insane

Draco Malfoy had gone insane. It had finally happened. It was long overdue, if he was being honest with himself. He was due to snap at some point. He’d been worried he might go slowly mad and never realize it. No. He had snapped. And he knew right away. After all, if Draco Malfoy, on any level, wanted to have sex with Harry Potter, clearly he was verifiable.

 

Merlin. He wanted to have sex with Potter.

 

It was that damned groping incident. Why couldn’t Potter have kept his bloody hands to himself?

 

It had been a bit of a slow crescendo, really. At first he’d been outraged. Why wouldn’t he be?  But then one night he just had one little thought. One absolutely evil, betraying little thought. If Potter, who was considered by many – not Draco – to be quite attractive (to clarify, Draco didn’t think so), and if Potter was considered the hero of the Wizarding World – a little bit by Draco, but he would never admit this to even himself, and he had groped Draco’s arse… it was a bit of a compliment, wasn’t it?

 

After all, Potter had clearly enjoyed it until he realized whom the arse belonged to.

 

Would Potter enjoy other parts of his body?

 

Draco quickly tried to avoid that line of thought. Partially because it had him thinking of Potter naked (he had to force himself to shiver in disgust at that thought), and partially because his mind went immediately to his leg. Would it bother him? _Don’t think about that, Draco._ He had to force those thoughts away. _It doesn’t matter what the fuck anyone else thinks about it. You can deal with it and so can they._ After he’d been able to force himself to acknowledge he was missing a leg, he’d spent the next few years staring at it, wondering what someone would think when they saw it. It wasn’t repulsive in any way, in Draco’s opinion. Once you got past the shock that there wasn’t anything there. But he’d gotten over all of that nonsense. If someone didn’t like it, then fuck them. That was all there was too it. He couldn’t start slipping back now because of fucking Potter.

 

And then that bloody dinner. That bloody dinner that hadn’t been in the top five worst dinners of the past five years. Why couldn’t Potter have been a complete prat like he always remembered? No, he had to be… charming wasn’t the word. Nor was pleasant. Potter had to be… not bad.

 

Draco paced his drawing room anxiously. Pansy was sprawled on her stomach on his sofa, head turned to him. She kicked her legs lazily in the air as she watched him. It seemed like they were spending a lot more time together now. Really, she and Neville were the only two people he talked to this openly. Blaise was off traipsing somewhere in France and he hadn’t seen Goyle in years. And there were certain things you didn’t just tell your mother.

 

“I’ve got to say, Draco, this place is as lovely as you promised. I didn’t know Muggle houses could be like this,” she mused quietly, but he was barely paying attention. “It’s so luxurious. Why didn’t we know about this before?” She asked, rolling onto her back. At Draco’s silence however, she pushed herself up on her elbows, brow knitted. “What’s bothering you?”

 

Draco gritted his teeth. Not sure how much he even wanted to delve into his own mind. So, he put it as simply as possible. “I had dinner with Potter.”

 

“You went to dinner with _Potter_?” Pansy repeated, her eyes narrowed.

 

“That’s what I just said,” Draco snapped back, annoyed.

 

One of Pansy’s eyebrows disappeared into her fringe. “Did you do anything else with Potter?” He couldn’t tell if her tone was serious or not.

 

“No!”

 

Pansy sat all the way up now. “So… you had dinner with Potter,” changing her tune quickly. “What’s the big deal? Was it awful?”

 

Draco’s frown just deepened and he refused to look at her. “No. It wasn’t.”

 

He didn’t have to be looking at her to know her expression had brightened considerably. “Oh. You had a good time.”

 

“I didn’t have a bad time,” Draco corrected. There was a big difference. He finally looked over at her, though he didn’t lessen his scowl.

 

“Don’t be upset, Draco.” There was a small pause before Pansy’s eyebrows shot up. Draco could practically see the light coming on in her head. “You know what would make you feel better? You should come to the New Year’s Eve party with me.”

 

Draco’s expression darkened. Not that stupid party. “Why would that make me feel better? And I’m not upset,” he quickly changed tactics when he realized how defensive that sounded. “In case you haven’t noticed, they failed to invite one fourth of Hogwarts to their giant get-together. Why would I want to be around that? They’re so… petty,” Draco spat. “As if all the Slytherins had some hand in the war. As if we didn’t lose things, too. As if we haven’t changed over the years.”

 

Pansy leaned back, holding her hands up. “Don’t get so angry! They don’t like me, either, but Michael invited me, so they just have to deal. Just tell Longbottom to invite you and then no one would dare say anything otherwise.”

 

“I don’t want to go,” Draco frowned at her. “Even if Neville convinces them to let me go, it’ll just be a lot of hostility. I’ve got better things to do on New Year’s Eve.” He didn’t.

 

“Bring your boyfriend!” Pansy suggested, which just made Draco’s frown deepen. She quirked an eyebrow at this. “Well, then. I guess Potter will be there with his boyfriend and you’re just going to seem like a lonely, lonely man who hasn’t seen more action than Potter grabbing you bum.”

 

He knew better. He really did. But he couldn’t help it. Whenever Potter was brought up- “Fine. I’ll talk to Longbottom.”

 

*

 

When Harry had first said his boyfriend was working the night of the New Year’s party and couldn’t come, Neville’s immediate thought had been: Poor Draco. Of course he would have to be the one working on New Years. But then Draco had asked Neville to try to get him into the party. How could he refuse? If he did, then Harry wouldn’t get to spend New Year’s with his friends and his boyfriend. And Draco would be spending it alone. Neville would just have to do his part for them. Even if it meant standing up to his closest friends for it to happen. He wasn’t looking forward to it, but if Harry and Draco liked each other and wanted to be together, then Neville had to help.

 

Neville was sitting in a chair in Seamus’s drawing room when the fire roared to life. Harry appeared in the green flames. Harry smiled at Hermione as he stepped out of the Floo. He brushed himself off on the mat and stepped out of the way. “This is great. I haven’t been to Hogsmeade in forever,” he looked around the cosy drawing room. Only Hermione, Ron, and Neville were there. “Where are Seamus and Dean?”

 

“Seamus went out to get more to drink. Dean’s just washing up,” Hermione explained and offered her hand. Harry gave her the bag in his arms.

 

“Gin’s practice is running late,” Ron added unnecessarily. Ginny was hardly ever at a get together on time.

 

Neville was extremely nervous about what he was going to do. But he had to do it for Harry and Draco. Certainly no one else would suspect that they were together, but they didn’t know about Draco’s missing leg. Harry probably didn’t realize Neville knew either because Draco wasn’t entirely open about it. He probably thought his description of his boyfriend was completely safe from discovery. So, Neville had continued to act ignorant around both of them.

 

But they weren’t exactly subtle, were they? Draco being in Diagon Alley when Harry was injured – probably around to make sure that exact thing didn’t happen. Harry visiting Draco at St. Mungo’s under the pretence of thanking him for the rescue. And now Draco asked Neville to convince others it was okay for him to come to the New Year’s Eve party. Harry, of course, couldn’t ask directly if they were trying to keep it a secret

 

But maybe he would wait until they had a few drinks first.

 

The drinking, thankfully, prompted by Seamus’s return, started immediately. Neville decided to go lightly until he could bring up Draco to them.

 

Luna arrived shortly after Seamus and Ginny arrived a half an hour later, loaded down with bags of gifts.

 

After they exchanged gifts and settled in, Neville cautiously waited for someone to bring up the New Year’s party. After a few other conversations were worn out, Seamus finally broke the topic.

 

“Did you hear that Michael is bringing Pansy Parkinson to the party?”

 

Ron groaned. “When did that man lose all of his senses?”

 

“That’s his girlfriend, Ron. He’s allowed to bring her,” Hermione interceded.

 

“I just don’t get how he could go from Ginny to… _her.”_

 

“I’m right here,” Ginny frowned. “And Michael can date all the Slytherins he wants. Even Pansy Parkinson. Not my business.”

 

“Actually,” Neville broached, jumping into the conversation before it could change, “I was thinking it might not be bad to invite a few Slytherins.”

 

All heads snapped to him, save for Luna’s. She just smiled serenely. “Good idea, Neville.”

 

“Are you mad?” Seamus demanded.

 

“I’m just saying some of them aren’t so bad. Some of them never were that bad. And some of them have gotten a lot better. That’s all,” Neville’s tone was as placating as possible. “It seems prejudiced to just leave them all out because of their house.”

 

Well, at least the use of the word “prejudiced” seemed to catch Hermione’s attention. “You know, Daphne Greengrass and Tracey Davis weren’t so bad. Davis was one of the Slytherins to come back and fight with us,” she mused.

 

“Hermione’s right. Inviting a few of them might not be so bad,” Dean nodded. Seamus and Ron looked like they were trying to suppress their outrage and Ginny looked reproachful. Harry, however, was suspiciously silent.

 

“I suppose inviting Davis and Greengrass isn’t so bad,” Ginny conceded. “Greengrass’s younger sister was one of the nicest Slytherins I’ve ever met. Did you know she was the only Slytherin to take Muggle Studies while we were at school?”

 

“I think we should invite Malfoy, too,” Neville added, hoping his suggestion would be slipped in quite smoothly. It wasn’t.

 

“Malfoy?!” “Have you lost it!?” “That scum?!”

 

“I think that’s very nice of you, Neville,” Luna said under the shouting.

 

“Wait, you lot,” Harry held up his hands and everyone directed their frown to him, but they quieted. “What’s so bad about inviting Malfoy?” Neville was relieved that Harry was coming to his aid – after all, they wanted the same thing, but he hoped his motivations wouldn’t become obvious to the others.

 

“Harry-“ Ron began, but Hermione cut him off.

 

“He did save Harry’s life a few weeks ago.”

 

“So that makes him not a bastard now?”

 

“Would it hurt that much to invite Malfoy?” Hermione asked. “He probably wouldn’t come anyways. Why would he want to be around the rest of us anyways?”

 

“Then why invite him in the first place?”

 

“I don’t know. It seems like the right thing to do.”

 

“We should invite him,” Harry added. “At the very least it shows we’re above all of his petty rivalries, right?”

 

Neville smiled at Harry. He didn’t know how or when Harry and Draco had reconciled, but he was glad for it.

 

*

 

It had been a downward spiral from that dinner until the evening of the New Year’s Eve party, which found Draco standing in front of the mirror in his bathroom, definitely aware that he found the idea of shagging Potter appealing. And part of his motivation for going to the stupid party was to see Potter. What did he think was going to happen? He wasn’t really going to fuck Potter.

 

He brushed his teeth vigorously and frowned at his reflection. _You don’t want to shag Potter,_ he thought to himself. _You’re just really, REALLY sexually frustrated._

Maybe he should just fuck his neighbour. After all, he’d probably say yes.

 

Draco, surprisingly, wasn’t deterred by the fact that his neighbour was Muggle. He just wasn’t sure he wanted to fuck the kind of person who spied on someone wanking. Even if Draco did put on quite a show.

 

He groaned and dropped his face into his hands, quickly pushing his fingers through his hair. Why was he worrying about that when he should be worrying about everything else about this ridiculous party Pansy had goaded him into? Everyone who hated him was going to be there. What fun.

 

 _Why would I care? I never liked any of them anyways. Malfoys don’t care what others think of them._ Except when they did. Which was all the time except when they said they didn’t care what others thought of them. And even then. _Besides. I’m not who I used to be. I can manage this easily._

If he could just figure out why he was going. A reason that didn’t revolve around Potter. He came up empty.

 

After glancing at the curtains of the bathroom to make sure they were drawn, Draco pointed his wand down at his leg so that it turned black. Satisfied, he quickly fixed his hair in the mirror, tucked his wand away, and left for the party.

 

*

 

“Harry,” Hermione said quietly, seated at the kitchen table in his Muggle flat.

 

“Hm?” He turned from examining his reflection in the decorative mirror. Really, he wasn’t even doing anything about it. He just, honestly, was trying very carefully not to look at his window, lest his mind drift to his neighbour.

 

He hadn’t told his friends about the dinner with Malfoy. He thought it would be questioned too much. They’d want to know why. It would be a whole interrogation. And then they’d want to know how it went and Harry would have to try very hard not to think about Malfoy wearing trousers with no pants. And the things he thought after. First his neighbour, now Malfoy? This was turning out to be a nightmare. Malfoy really was right about his type. Good thing Malfoy would have to be utterly mad to show up at this party.

 

Hermione was looking at him curiously, her head resting on her hand. “Can you tell me why we can’t meet your boyfriend yet?”

 

Harry was about to go on the defensive again, even though that would be increasingly suspicious every time he did it. But, he barely had to reach in to find a speech he’d always kept prepared. Ever since he and Ginny broke up, he knew he’d have to say it. “We’re just not ready yet, Hermione. I mean, you didn’t have to deal with this, right? It’s not easy to introduce someone you’re dating to the people you’ve been friends with for as long as we have, who had gone through the things we have,” Harry leaned back against his bookcase. “Honestly, introducing him to you and Ron, at this point, is like introducing him to my parents.”

 

“Your parents?” Hermione only seemed slightly offended.

 

“You know what I mean,” Harry waved it off, knowing she did. “You’re my family. And I don’t want to introduce him until we’re much more serious.”

 

Hermione dropped her hand into her lap and nodded. “All right, Harry. I understand,” she said quietly. “Is that why you wouldn’t bring him to the party?”

 

“Yes.” Lying really was getting frighteningly easy now, wasn’t it?

 

“Harry,” Hermione’s brows knitted together in concern. “You should have gone to a different party with him.”

 

Harry shook his head. “I wanted to spend New Years Even with you lot anyways,” he smiled. “I’ll spend Valentine’s with him.” Great. Now he was making Valentine’s plans with an imaginary boyfriend?

 

“Valentine’s? Already making plans for that?” Hermione smiled. She seemed pleased. “We should go. Ron’ll be waiting.”

 

“No, he won’t. When has he ever arrived somewhere before you, Hermione?”

 

She stood up. “Well, let’s not make this a first.”

 

Hermione’s insistence on an early arrival meant that they were among the first to arrive at George’s place in London. It was a large home that Harry felt was strongly reminiscent of the Burrow, which was likely on purpose. It was a tall, teetering wood construction at the edges of Diagon Alley, but obviously well-maintained. The inside was decorated extensively. Floating lights hung near the ceilings in every room, bright blinking sparks cracked at every doorway and Harry had a feeling that there would be a fire before the end of the night.

 

“I’m surprised, Hermione. Neville got here before you,” George greeted her with a grin. There was a slight pause between his sentences that hadn’t quite faded away. Harry’s stomach clenched slightly. “Harry, where’s this boyfriend I’ve been hearing about?”

 

“He’s not coming,” Hermione said for him.

 

“Hi, Hermione, hi, Harry,” Neville greeted as he walked into the room. “I was bored so I got here a bit early,” he seemed apologetic at arriving before Hermione.

 

“Well, I would have been here earlier, but I had to wait on Harry,” she shot him a look. Harry just gave a sheepish smile, playing along.

 

 

 

_1.5 hours to midnight…_

 

When Ginny arrived an hour later, most people were already there. She picked up a drink smoothly as she approached Harry. Harry had only had a few drinks so far, and he was desperately wishing he’d managed to squeeze in a few more. He was stuck as the centre of attention for nearly the entire party. Everyone was coming over to greet him – even people he hadn’t seen since Hogwarts. He was certainly glad to see them, but it was tiring to force a smile when person after person congratulated him on the various things he’d accomplished in the past couple of years. He was extremely relieved when Ginny forced herself in between him and Ernie Macmillan.

 

“Hey, Harry,” she greeted with a smile and Ernie Macmillan disappeared back into the crowd with a grumble. “You looked like you needed rescuing,” she took a sip of her drink.

 

“You have no idea. He was talking to me about his job at the ministry and how well he has done and all that,” he wasn’t impressed by Ernie’s pompous attitude, even if he was a good guy underneath it all. “And before that, I’m pretty sure everyone here has come up to congratulate me,” he was saying, but Ginny wasn’t listening, her gaze as turned towards the entry.

 

“Oh wow,” Ginny turned quickly, facing Harry directly. “Malfoy’s here.” Harry’s heart may have skipped a beat. “I can’t believe he actually came.”

 

Harry leaned over, looking over her shoulder, scanning the crowd for Malfoy’s blonde hair. It was difficult to miss. He spotted him immediately near the entrance to George’s extremely crowded drawing room. He agreed with Ginny. How could he have come? Why? Of course, he’d been concerned about it since Neville suggested it. At first, he’d been on Neville’s side – after all, Malfoy had done quite a bit for him and he wasn’t so bad, really. If they were each helping each other out, and could get along for most of a dinner, didn’t that give them some sort of relationship where Malfoy was allowed to attend parties that Harry did? Not friends, certainly, but not enemies anymore. At least, that’s what his rational mind told him.

 

But the more he thought about it, the more worrisome the thought it became. For one, it was obviously a bad situation. Malfoy would be among people he hated and people who hated him. That had a possibility to end disastrously. As much as Harry told himself that everyone had grown up, even Malfoy, he didn’t like the odds. He tried to imagine Malfoy’s actions in Diagon Alley, but he didn’t know what he might do when confronted with this type of situation.

 

Secondly, Harry still hadn’t been able to manage to get rid of this crazy notion that he wanted Malfoy. He knew it was just his imagination – he was combining Malfoy with his neighbour in his mind. And, honestly, it was entirely unwillingly. Once his dream had put that image in his mind, he hadn’t been able to get rid of it. And now it haunted him constantly. And after that dinner… He didn’t know how he would feel confronted with Malfoy now.

 

Nervous was the first thing. His stomach was doing flips as he hoped Malfoy didn’t see him. He was worried someone would be able to notice the weird, totally involuntary attraction. He was worried he would somehow lose his inhibitions and let it slip or act on it.

 

But he also felt excited. Excited that one of those things would happen. It wasn’t about Malfoy, though. He was just excited about the thought of maybe kissing someone tonight. Not Malfoy, though. Or taking someone home. Definitely not Malfoy, though.

 

“Yeah, that’s weird,” he commented, trying to sound casual, but he knew his pause was too long. Ginny narrowed her eyes suspiciously. “I’m going to go get some fresh air.”

 

*

 

_1 hour to midnight…_

 

This party was a bad idea.

 

Draco cursed Pansy in his mind. She had goaded him into this. At worst, people were sending him glares and muttering to each other. At worst, they were bumping into him or insulting him. Luckily, no one did anymore than that, and Draco could force himself not to reciprocate except with a glare of his own. This was why he wasn’t in the Wizarding World very often – there were only so many times one could hear “Death Eater scum.”

 

But he couldn’t leave yet. He wanted to, but he wasn’t going to let them win. He wasn’t going to lose face. He could deal. But he could deal better with a few drinks – or twelve. He made his way across the room, drink in hand, with some difficulty, brought on by both the crowd and a few drinks, determined to find somewhere less crowded to wait out the party until he could leave.

 

“Draco, I’m glad you could make it,” Neville found him, greeting him with a genuine smile. Draco was relieved to see him, though he didn’t show it. Draco’s head spun a moment when he stopped, but he got his bearings quickly. Thankfully, Draco’s faculties were all in place.

 

“You’re the only one,” Draco responded darkly and Neville’s eyebrows came together in concern.

 

“Look, I’m sorry everyone’s being…”

 

“An arsehole?”

 

Neville nodded just a little bit. “Yeah.”

 

“It’s not entirely undeserved. But it doesn’t make for a good time,” Draco scowled at the people around him.

 

“There’s a balcony upstairs. I don’t think anyone’s up there,” Neville’s voice took on an odd tone, but Draco couldn’t quite place it. “Just take the stairs over there and take the corridor to the left.”

 

“Thanks,” Draco nodded at him, Neville’s strange tone forgotten as he grabbed another drink and shoved his way through the crowd to the stairs. He had to squeeze between people sitting on the stairs, but as soon as he got to the top, it was like a breath of fresh air. There was one couple talking near the top of the stairs, but Draco could move freely. But he didn’t want to stand around in the corridor, so he went to the left until he spotted the door that went outside. He glanced through the small window and didn’t see anyone, so he walked out, pleasantly surprised that a warming charm had been cast on the balcony, keeping the winter cold away. Draco could see the snow falling from the sky, but it never touched the balcony.

 

But, unfortunately, there was someone else on the balcony.

 

Draco frowned when he realized the other person on the balcony was Potter. It was quiet, but the option of being in a quiet place with Potter or in a noisy, crowded place with anyone else was a hard decision. Did the intensity with which everyone else hated him outweigh how much trouble Potter caused him? Did he wanted to suffer through another not-bad conversation? But this was better than inside. And, hey, maybe Potter would leave, but a room full of drunken, hormonal twenty-somethings weren’t about to clear out just because they found Draco’s presence distasteful.

 

Draco walked over to the opposite side of the balcony and leaned against it. Surprisingly, or unsurprisingly, Potter turned to look at him. “What are you doing here, Malfoy?”

 

“I’m thinking about jumping. Better than staying here with you lot,” Draco shot back, even shocked at his own outburst of malice. He quickly blamed the drinks and backpedalled, not entirely sure why he felt guilty for snapping at Potter. “Just getting some fresh air. What do you think, Potter?” He amended quickly with a loud sigh.

 

Potter didn’t seem put off. “No, I mean, what are you doing at the party?”

 

“Right. Because I don’t belong here. Yeah. Heard that dozens of times tonight already, Potter.”

 

“No,” Potter turned to face him fully. He wasn’t glaring. He seemed just as pleasant – not bad, Draco amended mentally – as he had during dinner. However, he was frowning. “Why would you even want to be here? Especially since you don’t like anyone here.”

 

“And no one likes me,” Draco added and turned, leaning back against the railing. “I knew that, Potter,” he snapped, but found his gaze sliding over Potter’s body. Potter looked fit. Why did he have to look so fit? _You don’t want to shag Potter!_ “It’s not really any of your business why I came.”

 

Potter, for what it was worth, seemed relaxed regardless of Draco’s tone. Draco glanced down at the drink in Potter’s hand. Ah, that was why. Draco poked his empty glass with his wand and it refilled. Conjured alcohol was never as good as the real thing, but it was better than going back inside for more. “You know, having dinner with you wasn’t so bad,” Potter broached.

 

Draco didn’t say anything and drained his glass.

 

“Think we could manage to have another decent conversation?” Potter asked.

 

Draco looked down at his glass and then at Potter. Time alone with Potter before seemed like dangerous territory. But now… maybe it wouldn’t be so bad. “All right. You start, Potter.”

 

“Okay, about that ménage a trois…”

 

“Never happened. Not for lack of trying,” Draco smirked and conjured another glass for both himself and Potter. “Next question.”

 

*

 

_Half an hour to midnight…_

 

Malfoy was funny. Why hadn't he ever noticed that? Sure, nearly all of Malfoy's jokes in school were at the expense of him or his friends, but they weren't now. And, really, Harry didn't remember why he'd been so offended. Well, they were cruel, of course, but he honestly didn't care now.

 

His head was really light and he was feeling quite dizzy. But he had to check his mental capacity. Did he feel like doing anything crazy? Dancing? Well, there wasn’t any good music on. Singing? Definitely not in front of Malfoy. Kissing Malfoy? Well... No. That answer was a no. But it was much less of a hard no than it ever had been.

 

Malfoy laughed. It was really attractive on him. It wasn’t a laugh at anyone’s expense. And it certainly wasn’t a restrained laugh. He was holding his stomach with his head thrown back.

 

“Okay, I’ve got a question,” Harry held up his hand, putting his drink down clumsily. “If you could have a choice for a ménage a trois-“

 

“What is it with you and threesomes, Potter?” Malfoy asked, exasperated. “What would your friends think if they knew you were dirty-minded? Bet they don’t know, do they?”

 

Harry ignored that. “Who would you want?”

 

Malfoy looked thoughtful for a moment, before saying, matter-of-factly, “Neville and Blaise.”

 

Harry didn’t stop the word from being blurted out. “Neville?!”

 

“Yeah, he’s hot now, Potter, or didn’t you notice?”

 

“What would he say if he knew you thought that?”

 

“He already does,” Malfoy hit Harry’s head clumsily. He certainly was much more handsy when he was drunk. “Neville and I have been friends for a while. You didn’t know that?”

 

Harry frowned. So that was why Neville wanted Malfoy to come to the party. They were friends. “No.”

 

Malfoy’s smile disappeared quickly and he frowned, so Harry jumped to another question.

 

“What did you really think of Umbridge?”

 

“Umbridge?” Malfoy grimaced, whatever thoughts going through his head about being Neville’s secret friend seemed to disappear. “Horrendous bitch.”

 

“Then why were you on her squad?”

 

“The status, Potter. Why else?” Malfoy scoffed. “Whatever happened to her, anyways? I mean, at the end of fifth year. She just… disappeared for a while.”

 

“We handed her over to the centaurs.”

 

Malfoy choked on his drink, while Harry smirked with no small amount of satisfaction. “You’re kidding! That’s actually brilliant, Potter. Didn’t know you had it in you.”

 

“Guess you didn’t know me as well as you thought.”

 

Malfoy leaned forward. “All right. I’ve got a question. Can you still speak Parseltongue?”

 

Harry’s brow furrowed. “I don’t know,” he admitted. “I haven’t tried in a long time. And it was not something I was particularly proud of.”

 

“Try it now,” Malfoy pressed.

 

“I can’t. I have to be looking at a snake,” Harry protested. And he didn’t really want to try. He expected Malfoy to make fun of him or keep pushing him, but, instead, he burst into laughter. It took Harry a minute to realize how juvenile Malfoy’s sense of humour was and he couldn’t help but chuckle a little bit, too. Mostly because Malfoy’s laugh was infectious and it was completely ridiculous that Malfoy found that funny.

 

Instead of letting them dwell on the apparent hilarity, Harry came up with a question quickly. “What’s the dumbest thing you’ve done recently?”

 

Malfoy’s head lolled slightly when he stopped laughing and looked at Harry. “Coming to this party,” he rolled his eyes and was still smiling, but this particular question didn’t elicit the laughter that Harry had gotten from the rest of the conversation. “What’s the weirdest thing that’s turned you on?”

 

“I don’t want to answer that!” Harry protested, his mind immediately going to his neighbour and all those…. Things. And, then, even more horrifyingly… to Malfoy.

 

“I answered your question!”

 

Harry groped his mind for something else. Think. Think of something other than watching your neighbour pour wax all over himself. Think. Dammit. He could think better if Malfoy’s arse wasn’t so distracting! “Grabbing your arse.” Wait. That wasn’t what he meant! Dammit!

 

Malfoy’s lips split into a grin – that very grin Harry had seen in the first fantasy involving him. The raw, sexual grin that made clear his threat to devour Harry the next chance he got. Harry grabbed his drink and downed the remainder quickly before he acted on it. “Tell me a secret of yours.”

 

“That’s not a question.”

 

“Fine. What’s something that you’ve lied about recently?”

 

“Oh, this is a good one,” Malfoy grinned. “You’re going to like this, Potter,” he leaned in conspiratorially. Harry could see how dilated his pupils were in the light that filtered out from inside. And how bright pink his cheeks were. “I told Pansy I had a boyfriend because I got into some _really_ extravagant wanking.”

 

In spite of himself, Harry laughed. Malfoy was pretending to have a boyfriend, too? “I have some experience with fake boyfriends,” Harry shot back with a mischievous grin.

 

Malfoy’s eyes widened in genuine shock. It was an expression he would have never seen if Malfoy were sober. “You didn’t.”

 

“No one would leave me alone about having someone, so… I just… made one up,” Harry shrugged.

 

“Potter! That’s positively Slytherin of you!” Malfoy slapped his arm, looking both impressed and delighted.

 

 

 

_2 minutes to midnight…_

 

Draco grinned and stepped forward, not realizing he felt so dizzy until he moved. He leaned in towards Harry’s ear, struck by a bit of boldness, and whispered loudly, “you can have me, Potter,” he grinned and pulled back slightly, looking at Potter’s shocked face. His eyes might actually pop out of his head. Draco laughed at the amusing sight.

 

“I what?”

 

Draco was struck again by the odd urge to laugh. “You want what you can’t have, remember? So I’m making sure nothing happens between us by saying that you can have me.” It was perfect. He could tell Potter he wanted to shag him without Potter knowing he actually wanted to shag him.

 

“But wait,” Potter protested. Like the arse he was. “If you’re saying I can have you so that I won’t want you so I can’t have you, then I can’t have you which would make me want you?”

 

Draco grabbed Potter’s shirt and hauled him close. “Potter,” he began slowly. “I have had too much to drink to deal with your mind games. If you want to grab my arse again, just do it.” Draco pulled back slightly, catching Potter’s stare. He actually looked tempted, didn’t he? Draco couldn’t help it, he started laughing again. Why couldn’t he seem to stop? He didn’t know what he wanted. He was so confused! “I’m just fucking with you, Potter! Could you imagine _you_ grabbing _my_ bum?!” It was a fucking hysterical idea. Absolutely hysterical. Draco had to back away as he doubled over to laugh. “You should have seen your face!” He didn’t know why it was so hilarious. Maybe it was hilarious because he was playing it like a joke but he really wanted Potter to grab his arse? What sort of terrible, clichéd scenario had he fallen into? Hilarious! “Drink, Potter,” he pushed the glass into Harry’s bright red face and brought it to his lips, forcing him to take a drink.

 

*

 

“Merlin, Potter, I’m tired,” Malfoy muttered, his gaze unfocused when the laughter had finally left him. He leaned his head back against the wall and didn’t seem inclined to pick it up.

 

“Come on, Malfoy. You can’t sleep here,” Harry stumbled slightly and put his hand under Malfoy’s head to lift it up. “There’s a bedroom.”

 

“Trying to get me to bed, Potter?” Malfoy sputtered, trying to contain his laughter. Eventually it dissolved to very strange giggling.

 

“Not going to apparate you home like that,” Harry’s voice was slurred a bit, but for some reason a responsible streak had kicked in during his intoxication. He had to be a good person and make sure Malfoy didn’t end up falling off the balcony. That would be bad.  

 

Malfoy slumped forward suddenly, their faces smashing together awkwardly, Draco’s lips crammed against Harry’s slightly open mouth. Their eyes met and they held for a minute while they both took a moment to register their position.

 

Had Malfoy done that on purpose?

 

Harry pulled away first. It wasn’t quite a kiss. But it was certainly enough to set off alarm bells in Harry’s mind.

 

Malfoy slumped forward a bit like he wasn’t expecting Harry to pull away and then caught himself.

 

“Malfoy?”

 

“Potter,” he answered. 

 

Malfoy didn’t seem to get that was meant to be a question. “What was that?”

 

“I don’t know, Potter,” he said slowly, hand on his temple and he slumped forward again, but caught himself. Harry was a little concerned seeing as they were on a balcony. Hopefully George had some sort of charm so people wouldn’t fall off. Especially at a New Year’s party. “You’re supposed to kiss someone at midnight, aren’t you?” His words were very slurred and he shook his head as if trying to clear it.

 

“You were trying to kiss me?” Harry asked, alarmed. But he had no idea which word to even put the emphasis on. Harry ran his hands over his face, trying to stop the world from spinning as he figured this out. He just had to keep telling himself he was sober enough to handle this. But he wasn’t. Not at all. He could only think of how he wanted to try it for real. Not when he was stuck with Malfoy’s shite aim.

 

“You’re the only one here.”

 

Instead of arguing that that was terrible reasoning, Harry found himself saying, “it’s not even midnight yet.”

 

They both paused when they heard the loud chanting of people inside.

 

_“Five. Four. Three. Two-“_


	9. Last Friday Night

Their eyes locked and Harry’s breath stopped in his throat.

 

Fuck it.

 

Harry surged forward, his eyes locked on Malfoy’s mouth, and he put his hand on Malfoy’s cheek. His fingertips brushed against his short blonde hair and he could feel the warm flush of Malfoy’s clean-shaven jaw. It all happened in an instant. Harry’s lips caught Malfoy’s, their noses just missing each other’s. He pulled Malfoy’s top lip between his. It was soft and slick and Malfoy made a small, surprised noise at the back of his throat. Harry’s bottom lip brushed against Malfoy’s teeth as they parted slightly. Malfoy clumsily grabbed his shirt and pushed his tongue into Harry’s mouth.

 

Harry immediately felt like choking, but he forced that sensation away. It tasted like he was tonguing a bottle of vodka. He was pretty sure he was going to get more intoxicated by just tasting Malfoy’s mouth. But he wasn’t pulling away. The kiss was too good. It was hot and solid and desperately gentle. The pressure was firm and insistent, but not harsh. The tenderness of Malfoy’s tongue against his and of the hands that now rested on his shoulders shattered any misgivings. The panic turned into desire that throbbed throughout Harry’s body and settled wherever his and Malfoy’s body connected, flushing into an intense, bright heat. 

 

Malfoy started to back away, but Harry followed him, not ready for the kiss to end, sliding his tongue against Malfoy’s, pushing past the strong taste. They ended up with Malfoy’s back against the wall of the house as Harry stumbled forward with him, not breaking contact.

 

Malfoy gasped against his lips as Harry slid his hands along his jaw and down his neck. Malfoy’s skin was soft and surprisingly warm under Harry’s palms. He could feel the rapid fluttering of Malfoy’s pulse. One of Harry’s hands slid back and up, brushing through the back of Malfoy’s hair. Harry had dated a man or two in the past, but these sensations thrummed through him, drawing forth a sort of giddy excitement he hadn’t experienced in a long time.

 

Malfoy’s hand rested on Harry’s forearms briefly before he awkwardly pushed Harry’s head out of the way, disengaging the kiss. But he dropped is head, pressing his lips against Harrys’ neck. As he did so, Malfoy’s hand touched the opposite side, holding him in place, but he certainly didn’t have to. Malfoy’s tongue was heated and wet against his neck.

 

They had to stop. They had to stop for just a moment. Would they do this is this if their thoughts were able to catch up with them? Harry pushed him back, gentle but firm. They didn’t say anything as they held each other’s gaze.  Malfoy’s face was flushed bright pink and he was breathing heavily. His lips were shining and his pupils were blonde as he stared at Harry.

 

That moment of thought didn’t change Harry’s mind at all.

 

Harry was on Malfoy in an instant, one hand jumping back into place, entwining in Malfoy’s hair. The other grabbed Malfoy’s waist roughly. This kiss was different. It was rough and devouring. Malfoy’s hands were on his shoulders, pulling him closer. Harry’s nose was crushed against Malfoy’s cheek as he tried to taste every inch of his mouth. Harry’s glasses were trapped between his face and Malfoy’s, getting pushed up slightly as Malfoy caught Harry’s tongue between his teeth. Harry’s heart was beating rapidly against his chest in time with Malfoy’s. Malfoy’s hands dropped and grabbed Harry’s jeans by the belt loops, pulling his hips forward.

 

Oh. _Oh._

 

Merlin, why hadn’t Malfoy learned to wear pants?

 

He could feel Malfoy’s arousal pressing against him through Malfoy’s thin trousers. Harry’s jeans were a rough barrier that he was going to loathe for the rest of his days. He was never wearing jeans again.

 

Harry only vaguely noticed when they were moving to the door. Malfoy’s hand was on the doorknob and it swung open, the door banging loudly against the wall and bouncing back just slightly. But neither of them paid it any mind. Nor did they check to see if the corridor was empty.

 

“This way,” Harry whispered against Malfoy’s lips, barely breaking contact. He grabbed Malfoy’s shirt and hauled him two doors down. They collided with the door and nearly fell into the room. Malfoy’s knees buckled as he got a new angle on Harry’s mouth. Harry had a mind to grope for the door and swing it shut. He took a quick glance around the guest room, grinning at Malfoy childishly.

 

“Stop smiling. Come here,” Malfoy hissed.

 

So this was what Malfoy felt like. He was solid and warm, just like in his fantasy. But he was present and very, very real. Harry’s hands shook with excitement as he searched for the buttons on Malfoy’s shirt while their lips were locked. He finally pulled away with no small amount of reluctance to look for it. Harry managed to undo them all, despite the fact that Malfoy had taken the opportunity drop his hands to the bottom of Harry’s jumper and slide up against his abdomen. He shivered and pushed Malfoy’s shirt out of the way. It got tangled on Malfoy’s arms, as he wasn’t moving them from their place on Harry’s sides, so Harry just stopped bothering with it. Harry shoved Malfoy roughly and he was knocked back onto the bed. Harry was on him in an instant before he could protest the treatment, lips locking onto Malfoy’s neck and pulling at the soft skin. A moan escaped Malfoy’s lips and Harry ran a hand along his collarbone and down his chest. Malfoy’s breath hitched when Harry’s palm brushed against one of his nipples, but he moved down to his ribs, dragging his fingers down his sides.

 

“Still tired, Malfoy?” Harry asked with a smile, lifting his head up, when he really should have said nothing.

 

“No talking, Potter,” Malfoy snapped without missing a beat and grabbed both Harry’s jumper and his t-shirt, pulling them upwards. Harry let Malfoy remove them completely and toss them on the floor. Harry’s glasses were knocked askew, so he removed them and dropped them in the general direction of the bedside table.

 

Heart pounding in his head and cock, Harry grabbed the hem of Malfoy’s trousers. Malfoy stopped him immediately, grabbing his wrists. “My trousers stay on,” Malfoy’s tone was serious, which managed to shake Harry despite his intoxication. Why wouldn’t Malfoy want to…?

 

“You don’t have any reason to be embarrassed,” Harry tried to explain – he’d felt quite enough through the fabric to know that – and put his hands back on the button, but Malfoy sat up now, almost colliding with Harry.

 

“I’m serious, Potter. Try it again and this ends now,” Malfoy held his gaze and kept Harry’s wrists firmly in his hands. Struck by Malfoy’s sudden severity, despite his dishevelled and debauched image, Harry nodded.

 

“All right,” Harry didn’t understand it, but if Malfoy was concerned enough about this boundary that he’d managed to stop everything and it alarmed him through his drunken state, then it was pretty important. Harry didn’t go for his button again. Instead, he put both hands on Malfoy’s jaw and pulled him into a deep kiss, reengaging their previous fervour.

 

Malfoy pulled away slightly, his lips still parted. “Your trousers, however, are under no such restriction,” he said breathlessly and Harry’s hand quickly went to his own zipper.

 

One of Malfoy’s legs slid from between Harry’s, his knee brushing against Harry’s prick. Harry let out a small breath of air, surprised as the sensation, and Malfoy smiled at him. Not smirked. Smiled. His gaze was definitely bleary and his hair was a mess, but it was absolutely gorgeous. He moved his leg so that is was on the outside of Harry’s. Harry was reminded vividly of the fantasy he had of Malfoy in the hospital, with Malfoy’s legs on either side of him in the Gryffindor common room.

 

Malfoy slid down a bit and rubbed his cock against one of Harry’s thighs shamelessly. Harry quickly pushed his own trousers and pants out of the way, freeing his erection and positioning himself so that he could roll his hips against Malfoy’s. Malfoy’s trousers were mercifully soft and Harry wondered if this was why Malfoy didn’t bother to wear pants. It was some of the nicest fabric to ever touch his cock. Harry ran a hand over his face quickly and then laid down on Malfoy, mouth going for his neck.

 

Malfoy was breathing heavy beneath him and his hand tangled in Harry’s hair. He moved to grind his cock against Harry’s and it sent a wave a pleasure through Harry, and he clamped down on Malfoy’s neck. Malfoy let out a strangled noise mingled with surprise and pleasure. Harry chuckled at Malfoy’s reaction and Malfoy knocked his head out of the way.

 

“Are you some kind of vampire? That hurt,” he scowled at Harry, but his gaze was a little too unfocused for Harry to take him seriously. “Don’t laugh.”

 

“Calm down, Malfoy,” Harry kissed his lips chastely. It sounded patronizing, even to his ears. He didn’t mean to sound that way. He just couldn’t seem to stop the first thought that came to his mind. “Just tell me if you liked it or not.”

 

“I’m so glad I’m drunk,” Malfoy said instead and grabbed the sides of Harry’s head, pulling him into a messy kiss. He slid his arms around Harry and rolled over on top of him.

 

And he promptly passed out.

 

*

 

The first thing Harry did when he woke up was groan. He was pretty sure he’d used a toilet brush instead of a toothbrush judging by the taste in his mouth. He made a few smacking sounds with his mouth, searching for any moisture at all that was left. No. There was nothing there. His tongue just felt like a scratchy foreign thing in his mouth. Even though he was convinced his eyes had been glued shut, he managed to crack them open. The room, thankfully, was dim. The curtains were drawn, only letting a small sliver of light through.

 

At least his surroundings were vaguely familiar. It felt like the home of someone he knew. Except… was he in a bedroom?

 

Who had left that pounding music on all night?! Oh. That was his head.

 

Harry quickly became panicked when he realized he had his arms wrapped around something. Was he with someone?! He sprung up quickly, nearly falling off the bed he was on in the process. His legs were twisted in dark purple sheets and his trousers were open. At least he still had his pants intact. His shirt, however, was nowhere to be seen.

 

Harry sat up, but curled over when a wave of nausea hit him. He fought it back and managed to get on his hands and knees. His glasses were intact and laying on the ground in front of him. He grabbed them quickly and put them on.

 

He wasn’t sure if he was quite ready to look in the bed.

 

What had happened last night?

 

He scoured his mind desperately for the answer. George’s house! He’d gone to George’s house for New Year’s. He’d arrived with Hermione and he remembered greeting Neville and drinking and Ginny rescuing him and drinking and going up to the balcony and drinking and Draco Malfoy. Draco Malfoy had shown up on the balcony. And more drinking. And it just sort of… got fuzzy. Something about threesomes?

 

But he was more concerned about the Malfoy part. Malfoy was the last thing he remembered. Harry’s heart was pounding in his throat now, and it wasn’t because he thought he was going to vomit. Well, not entirely.

 

Some time while he was on the floor, whoever was in the bed seemed to wake up. He heard a person groan and a creak in the bed. Well, the person definitely sounded male. Did that groan sound like Malfoy? He couldn’t tell. If his head would just be quiet for a second!

 

Then the person on the bed spoke. “What the fuck?”

 

Harry’s heart stopped. That was _definitely_ Malfoy. It was like a bucket of ice water had been spilled over him. But he was pretty sure if it had, his whole body wouldn’t be getting hot. _No nausea. I’m fine. I’m fine._

What the hell was he going to do? What was he going to do?

 

Where was his wand?

 

Was there any way to get out of the situation without Malfoy seeing him? Did he remember? Malfoy had seemed drunker than Harry when he’d come out onto the balcony, hadn’t he? Or had he? It was all blurring together. It would be pointless to escape if Malfoy remembered. Maybe he could hide under the bed until Malfoy left?

 

_You’re a Gryffindor, Harry. You have to face this even if you don’t want to. Really, really don’t want to. It would be much worse not to._

Harry began to sit up, but his face nearly collided with Malfoy’s when his head appeared over the bed.

 

“Potter?”

 

Malfoy looked absolutely dreadful. His skin was paler than usual, and his eyes were looking at Harry through very thin slits. His hair was flat on one side.

 

But with his shirt hanging open, his messy hair, and the couple of marks on his neck that Harry was fairly certain weren’t bruises, he could tell what likely happened last night.

 

Harry climbed back onto the bed and Malfoy backed up quickly. Malfoy was rubbing his eyes viciously. “Potter,” his voice was weak and scratchy, “what happened last night?”

 

“I think…” Harry began slowly, realizing his voice sounded almost as bad as Malfoy’s. He didn’t know what to say to Malfoy. He wasn’t completely sure himself. He had a pretty good idea.

 

He hadn’t quite worked out the words when Malfoy’s eyes flew open and he sat up straight. But he rolled over the side of the bed just as quickly as he did. He gripped the mattress and hung his head over, but, thankfully, he seemed to hold onto the contents of his stomach. “Oh…” he groaned and then curled into a ball, his forehead on the mattress. “I think I’m going to be sick.” He tilted his head so that he could see Harry. “Potter, did we?”

 

Harry frowned and rubbed his eyes, feeling some relief from the pressure. “I don’t know. I think.”

 

“You don’t remember?”

 

Harry started to shake his head, but thought better of it. “No. Do you?”

 

“No,” Malfoy rolled over onto his side, still looking at Harry. “But I don’t have to be an Auror to figure it out.”

 

Hopeful, Harry groped in his mind for something that would tell them that nothing happened. “We could have just gotten drunk and passed out on the bed. Maybe nothing happened.”

 

“No, something definitely happened.”

 

“How can you tell?”

 

Malfoy raised an eyebrow, which didn’t look as intimidating when his eyes were very nearly shut. He pressed his face against the mattress and made a frustrated noise. “Do I have to spell it out for you?”

 

“You’re not spelling it out if you haven’t even tried to tell me in any way,” Harry complained, feeling equally frustrated. He didn’t have the mind for guessing games anyways.

 

“I came, Potter,” his voice was partially muffled by the mattress, but Harry heard it clearly.

“I didn’t.” At least, there was no evidence for it.

 

Malfoy sat up now. Rather quickly. He looked greener, but he managed to give Harry a halfway decent glare as he set his jaw. “Well, then, Potter, you didn’t have sex with me. That should be a relief.”

 

“A relief? How does that prove anything?”

 

“If you had sex with me, you would have come,” Malfoy said matter-of-factly.

 

I could have-“ He didn’t finish that sentence. Because he was thinking of all the places he could have come in… rather than his own pants.

 

“Do not finish that sentence if you value your life.”

 

“What do we do?” Harry asked instead.

 

Malfoy managed to slide off the bed and onto his feet. He buttoned up his shirt hurriedly, missing a few, and retrieved his wand from the floor. Harry spotted his tangled up in the sheets near where Malfoy had been laying and swiped it up. “We pretend it never happened.”

 

“We’re going to pretend this never happened?” Perhaps that was best. But Harry wasn’t sure he wanted it that way. This Malfoy wasn’t completely like the Malfoy he used to know. He kind of liked the Malfoy he’d been coming to know in the past few weeks.

 

“Merlin, your voice is obnoxious,” Malfoy grabbed his head. “No one is to know, Potter. Don’t… contact me. Don’t… do anything Harry Potter-ish. All right? I need a bath,” he added the last part to himself. Malfoy was slipping out the door in the blink of an eye, barely stumbling past a small table.

 

“Harry Potter-ish? What does that even mean?” But Malfoy was already out the door. Harry sighed heavily and flopped onto his back.

 

What had just happened?


	10. The One Where They Find Out

It took two days. Fifty-two hours and ten minutes before Harry finally decided he had to do something “Harry Potter-ish.” He wasn’t sure what Malfoy had meant by that, but he was pretty sure Malfoy would categorize this under “Harry Potter-ish.”

 

He couldn’t sit around in his flat just trying to remember what had happened with Malfoy. The more he thought about it, anyways, the more he decided what happened with Malfoy could have only a very narrow amount of things. Harry knew with the things he had been thinking… It was probably not that great a mystery what had occurred. What Harry wanted to have occurred.

 

Harry’s first stop in looking for Malfoy was his work – it hardly occurred to him to send an owl or even bother thinking about what, exactly, he planned on saying to Malfoy. ‘Malfoy, I don’t want to forget what happened and I want to ask you on a date’ seemed good enough for now.

 

But he wasn’t at work.

 

Harry’s next thought, of course, was Malfoy Manor. But Malfoy hadn’t seemed too pleased when Harry had sent a letter there. And he didn’t live there anymore. But he didn’t know where Malfoy lived. And who would know that would be willing to tell him?

 

Neville.

 

“You don’t know where he lives?”

 

Neville was seated in his small home in Hogsmeade, still not yet returned to Hogwarts for the term, though it would be starting the next day. He seemed positively dumbfounded at Harry’s request for Malfoy’s address. Why was Neville surprised Harry didn’t know where Malfoy lived? Should he know? He hadn’t talked to Malfoy since Hogwarts until very recently. But Harry didn’t ask about it. He was in a bit of a hurry.

 

“I swear I just want to talk to him,” Harry promised. Neville frowned and walked over to his desk, ripping off a piece of parchment. “Thank you.”

 

“What happened between you two?” Neville asked, but the question seemed rhetorical. He finished scratching down some words and handed it off to Harry.

 

Harry glanced down at it and thanked Neville again. The address was close to where Harry lived, from what he could tell. He shouldn’t have been surprised, really. It was a really nice area. And if Malfoy was in a Muggle flat, he would have been in a rather luxurious one.

 

Harry apparated into his flat, figuring he could start there. He walked down to the ground floor and out onto the street. He eyed the street name on the paper and glanced up. It was the street just a half a block down, intersecting the street Harry lived on. He wondered how far down this street the address was. He hurried over to the street corner and crossed. He muttered the number on the parchment under his breath over and over, but stopped when he saw a low sign in front of the building on the corner. The one right across from his.

 

Harry held up the parchment and stared at it with narrowed eyes for much longer than absolutely necessary, trying to will the numbers to change. They didn’t. Heart pounding a little harder, he walked up to the front doors. It was a really ridiculous thought. The bloke across the street was missing a leg. Malfoy definitely wasn’t missing a leg. He would have known. But, he looked down at the room number. Fourteenth floor. That bloke was one floor below Harry’s, wasn’t he? Harry lived on the fifteenth.

 

He stepped into the lift and pressed the button. But Malfoy was probably in one of the other numerous flats of the sparkling, massive building. But he was pretty sure he was going to be sick by the time he reached the fourteenth floor. He stepped out, trying to figure out which direction he was facing as he walked down the corridor.

 

Harry stopped right in front of the door with the shining numbers that matched the one on his address.

 

This couldn’t be right. Maybe the address was wrong. Maybe Neville had mixed up the flat number and the street number.

 

This could not be Malfoy’s flat.

 

*

 

Draco was rather glad he wasn’t working for the next two days. He didn’t know how he’d managed to get New Year’s off. He almost never got holidays off. Maybe they were starting to view him a bit more fairly after a few years of (what Draco considered) excellent work.

 

The first day, he’d needed off. He was so distraught and hungover that he’d spent all day in bed.

 

The second day, he wished he were working. He needed something to get his mind off of the entire New Year’s Eve mess. He had no doubt what had occurred. Not that he remembered. But he thought it was pretty clear. It was wishful thinking on anyone’s part that nothing had happened. Mostly Draco’s part. He wished nothing happened, but he wasn’t stupid. He knew.

 

He needed something to occupy his mind. And since he didn’t have work, he’d tried going through potions books. And when that hadn’t worked, he’d tried sleeping. But he’d slept most of the day before and wasn’t tired at all. So he ended up in the kitchen, dozens of cookbooks piled on the counters around him. Some of the ingredients had to be conjured. And he was making much more food than he could eat before it went bad, but the difficulty of the task kept his mind from wandering.

 

He didn’t have to face what happened with Potter. It didn’t matter. Potter was just some drunk mistake that they would never talk about. It wasn’t like he would ever have to see Potter again anyways. At the same time, that thought was both a relief and a disappointment. He’d sort of enjoyed his time with Potter. And if there was some way to take back New Year’s Eve, everything would have been fine. Over the past couple months, Draco had begun enjoying his life. He had a fantastic place to live, significantly less nightmares, some sexual satisfaction in a very bizarre fashion, possibly more respect at work (he did get New Year’s off and Patel had treated him like another doctor, not like a former Death Eater), and he’d gotten along with Potter. They’d been possibly getting close to some sort of friendship. And he’d flirted just a bit. It had been exciting. He’d stopped caring so much about his leg or his reputation or his past.

 

He stirred his potato concoction aggressively. S _top thinking about it! Maybe you can fix it! Maybe you can just go to Potter and ask if he wants to forget it as well. This doesn’t have to stop._

_And even if he doesn’t, that’s just one setback. You still have a nice flat, and things are looking up at work. And you’ve still got your friends and the pervert across the way who is absolutely creepy, but hot and you like it, so it’s okay._

Draco wasn’t naturally upbeat or optimistic. And, for most of his life, when he was suffering, he was miserable. But he tried to tell himself that he wasn't going through sixth and seventh year again. Nothing could be as bad as it was then. He had no reason to feel bad. He’d gotten through the worst of his life. Everything should be easy now in comparison.

 

So why didn’t it feel that way? It felt like, sometimes, all he could think about was all the failings of his life rather than the things that were going well (or, at least, not bad). He had to constantly try forcing his mind to think of things in a better light. It rarely worked.

 

Draco sighed heavily, instead turning his mind to having a, hopefully, delicious dinner. And then there was a knock at his door. Draco put down his bowl and flipped the oven off, frowning deeply. Had Pansy heard? Hopefully it wasn’t his mother. Maybe Neville was dropping by for a friendly visit. Usually, though, Neville didn’t drop in unannounced. That was usually Pansy and his mother.

 

Pansy had been at the party. Did anyone else see what had gone on between Draco and Potter? He hadn’t been out of his flat in two days. What if the entire Wizarding World knew now?

 

Pushing aside panic, Draco walked over and opened the door.

 

Potter was standing outside his flat.

 

He did not want to see Potter right now. But, it was Harry Potter. Of course he was going to come after Draco and confront him. That’s what Potter did. He couldn’t imagine there was any reason he wanted to speak to Potter. But Potter’s expression kept him from slamming the door shut right away.

 

“Malfoy?” Harry’s eyes were wide, his mouth agape in shock, like he hadn’t expected to find him there.

 

Draco frowned. What? Why did he look… shocked? What was so shocking? Draco glanced down quickly. He was fully dressed and his clothes were astonishingly clean for all the cooking he'd been doing. So what was the problem? “Yes, Potter. I told you I lived in a Muggle flat,” he said, exasperated. That was the only conclusion he could come to – Potter hadn’t believed Draco lived in a Muggle flat.

 

“You didn’t tell me you lived in _this_ flat!”

 

Draco narrowed his eyes, wondering what, exactly, he was missing. He briefly glanced back into his flat. “Why would that matter?”

 

Potter suddenly shoved past him and stormed down the corridor. Draco was stunned for a minute, bewildered at Potter’s actions. Had he just...?

 

“Potter! Stop or I’ll stun your bollocks off!” He shouted after him, the threat completely empty. He couldn’t very well get away with doing anything to the Wizarding World’s Golden Boy. But he could threaten. What the hell was wrong with Potter?! Was he drunk? Draco ran after him when he didn’t stop, and followed Potter into his bedroom, but Potter was already disappearing into Draco’s bathroom. _What the hell? What the fucking hell? What the bloody fucking hell?_ “Potter!” He snapped again, but Potter had stopped and was standing at the edge of Draco’s bath. He rounded on Draco quickly, ducking down before Draco could even comprehend what he was doing. He grabbed Draco’s trouser leg and yanked it up, revealing the false black leg he’d been wearing. Draco jerked away from him quickly. “What the hell, Potter?! Have you lost your mind?!”

 

But Potter was just staring at him, disbelieving. His mouth was slightly agape and then he uttered one word. “You.”

 

“Me what?” Draco demanded, but his gaze slid past Potter to his bath to the building across the way and then right back to him, realization spreading from his chest, making his stomach churn horrendously. He returned Potter’s stare. Oh fuck. POTTER?! It had been Potter watching him?! Oh Merlin… he was going to be sick. Potter had watched him? Potter had seen him… do all of that?! Potter had gotten off on him doing all of that?

 

“Fuck, Malfoy. Fuck. How could this have happened?” Potter hissed, but Draco just blinked in response. What should he say? Did Potter know he’d seen him watching? He didn’t have to think too long, though, because Potter’s expression shifted from that mixture of shock and revulsion – or whatever else Draco was certain Potter was feeling now that he knew he’d been watching Draco – to shock and concern. Draco knew that look. He’d seen it often enough. Pity. Draco backed up quickly. “Malfoy,” his voice was a whisper. “What happened?”

 

“Get out, Potter,” Draco said in a low, warning voice. Now Potter knew about his leg. He didn’t need whatever response Potter was going to give him. Not his satisfaction and certainly not his pity. This time when he pointed his wand at Potter, it wasn’t an empty threat.

 

No one would find out if he hexed Potter. Potter wouldn’t tell. He was too noble for it. He certainly hadn’t in school and he certainly wouldn’t now. But that wasn’t even Draco’s primary concern. No, that was getting Potter out before he could give him some sort of terrible, Gryffindor show of concern and pity. And, knowing Potter, it would be completely genuine. Which was even worse.

 

“Malfoy, wait,” Potter held up his hands. “Can we just talk for a minute? Just one minute?”

 

Malfoy’s hand was shaking with what he hoped was rage and nothing else, but he lowered his wand just a bit.

 

“What happened?” Potter asked without being prompted.

 

He knew that was what Potter would ask. Quickly, Draco slammed into his defensive state – sneering and sarcasm. But, shockingly, honesty, as well. “My dear Auntie Bellatrix happened.”

 

Potter didn’t seem phased, though. A line appeared between his eyebrows.

 

Draco half growled, half sighed. Potter didn't even have to ask him to explain further. He knew. “She used dark magic. Can’t be regrown. I don’t think she was trying to kill me. But you don’t exactly come after someone with that sort of magic for a minor offense.”

 

“Why did she do it?”

 

He knew Potter would ask that, too. But Draco wasn’t sure he wanted to answer. Not this time. “Because she’s fucking insane,” he hissed, hoping that would be enough. It wasn’t.

 

“Was it after that night with Dumbledore…?” Potter began quietly and Draco cringed internally. He decided he didn’t need Potter guessing about this. He could pull up any number of painful memories. 

 

Dammit. “It was after you escaped from the Manor,” Draco said quickly, almost hoping Potter missed it.

 

“What?” His voice was even softer, barely audible. His eyes widened and he shifted on his feet, as if he couldn’t decide whether to take a step forward or back.

 

“She knew that I knew it was you. And,” Draco inhaled deeply through his nose, “she thought I might have had something to do with your escape.”

 

Potter took a step forward this time and Draco backed up immediately. Potter noticed this and stopped. “I’m sorry,” he said instead, completely genuine. 

 

“It was my decision, Potter,” Draco snapped quickly. “And it was Bellatrix who did it. You had nothing to do with it. Don’t apologize.” He knew that was Potter’s way, but he was disgusted by Potter’s need to apologize for something that wasn’t his fault. Funny, he couldn’t manage to apologize for things that were his fault, could he? “It was a small price to pay for the right side winning and my family and I getting through it all even when on the opposite side.” Before Potter could say anything to that, Draco raised his wand again. “Now go.”

 

“My minute isn’t up yet. I just need to tell you something,” Harry said quickly. Draco didn’t protest because he hadn’t been keeping track of the time. And because he was curious. “I’ve been watching you.” Draco frowned. “I live in the building across the street from you. One floor up. I didn’t realize it was you. But I saw you in the bath one night and I started just… watching more than once. It was an accident at first! And I swear, I didn’t know it was you! And I’m really sorry for it. I feel terrible. It was wrong and disgusting and I’m really, really sorry.”

 

“You-“ Draco stopped himself. He was about to ask: “you didn’t know I knew you were watching?” But clearly Potter didn’t. Luckily, he didn’t need to finish his sentence before Potter was talking again.

 

“I know it was wrong. I shouldn’t have done it.”

 

“Would you have done it? If you’d known it was me,” Draco asked and Potter blinked rapidly for a minute, taken aback by the question.

 

“I- I don’t know. I’m attracted to you,” he admitted slowly after a moment of thought.

 

Draco felt a little bit better to hear that. Even if his head was spinning at the thought that it had been Potter watching him. But wasn’t that good? He was attracted to Potter and Potter was attracted to him. And, it was probably better it was Potter watching him than some stranger. So why didn’t he assuage Potter’s guilt a bit? He could tell Potter he knew. But he didn’t. It seemed more beneficial to keep that particular detail from Potter for now. He needed to stew in his guilt a bit. It was what he deserved for barging into Draco’s flat and accosting him.

 

“And the leg thing,” Draco gestured vaguely, feeling a bit exposed, but he had to know, “wasn’t a problem for you?”

 

“Merlin, Malfoy,” Potter ran his hand over his face, looking away. “I tell you I’ve been spying on you wanking and that’s your response?” He finally looked back at Malfoy, confusion etched in his features. “Is the leg normally a problem?”

 

“I don’t know,” Draco snapped defensively.

 

“It wasn’t,” Potter interrupted before Draco could make any excuses for why he hadn’t been involved with many people romantically or sexually since the war. “I actually thought it was a bit… hot.”

 

“Hot?” Draco repeated blankly.

 

“Yeah,” Potter shrugged. “Not in a weird way,” he was quick to add. “Not like a fetish. Just like scars, you know? Says something about a person’s history,” Potter rubbed his hand over his face and made a frustrated noise in his throat. “Is that offensive? I don’t mean to sound like an arse or some sort of fetishizing pervert. Especially after what I’ve done.”

 

“Potter, you are using the word ‘fetish’ way too much for my liking. Stop.”

 

“I’m just trying to say it wasn’t a detriment. But I won’t say I didn’t notice it, either. I mean, I was usually looking elsewhere,” Draco was worried he was blushing, but Potter was too, and he wouldn’t look at Draco. “But I did like- do like the black leg. It’s…” He struggled to find the word. “Is this too weird?” He asked finally.

 

“Honestly, Potter, it’s a bit of a relief.”

 

Potter started laughing. It didn’t seem to be from humour. “What do we do now, Malfoy?” He asked after a few long moments. His tone seemed hopeful, but Draco balked just a bit.

 

“Now, you leave.”

 

“What?”

 

“I need some time.”

 

“Oh. Oh, I understand,” Potter nodded. And it seemed he did. “I really am sorry. About everything,” he said as he walked to the front door, which was still slightly ajar. He paused, looking like he wanted to say something, but he quickly closed his mouth and left without another word.  


	11. Those Damned Curtains

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry the update is late. I was sick yesterday and couldn't proofread and post.

It was Potter this whole time? _POTTER?_ Harry _fucking_ Potter? Draco paced the length of the room. Was he going to be sick? No, he wasn’t going to be sick. Did he need a drink? Fuck yes. Draco stormed into the kitchen and rummaged through the cupboards, pulling out all the alcohol he had and a glass. He quickly downed some firewhiskey and briefly choked.

 

Would this solve his problem? No. But it would make him feel a little better.

 

What was his problem? Harry fucking Potter was his problem. But why was it a problem, really? Because he may have had sex with Potter and Potter had been spying on him wanking and it was Harry fucking Potter. None of this would be a problem if it had all happened with someone else (with a few exceptions… like Weasley). Draco shivered at the thought.

 

_‘I need to think about it?’ You’ve lived through a war, Draco, and you think this is a problem? That’s all you do is think. You think about everything all the time. Maybe it’s time to stop._

He was sexually attracted to Potter. And he hadn’t had sex in a really long time. What more was there to think about?

 

A lot, actually. But thinking wasn’t going to do anything but drive him crazy, was it? He really had two choices – fuck Potter or don’t fuck Potter. And all he would be doing was trying to figure out if doing what he wanted was worth it. He would be overcomplicating something pretty simple and he didn’t need that.

 

Maybe what he needed was a bath.

 

*

 

“I’m a fucking idiot. I’m a fucking. Idiot,” Harry rubbed his hands over his face and through his hair. He couldn’t even begin to fathom the depths of his own stupidity. He didn’t know what was worse: that he’d been watching Malfoy wank in the bath for months, that he’d …done whatever it was with Malfoy New Year’s Eve, that he’d sought out Malfoy and ruined this whole thing, that he’d said all those probably-offensive things about Malfoy’s leg, that he hadn’t realized Malfoy would be punished for helping him, or that he hadn’t given Malfoy much of a thought since after the war trials.

 

Why couldn’t he have just kept his mouth shut and offered Malfoy some sort of truce instead? Maybe they could go catch a Quidditch game? But he knew why. There was no way Harry would have been able to live with the guilt of not telling Malfoy he’d been watching him. And his leg?

 

Harry sighed heavily and flopped back onto the sofa, covering his face with his hands. He was a terrible person. And he hoped Malfoy would forgive him for it. New Year’s Eve was a result of being intoxicated, but he had no such excuse for the other things. Harry had invaded his privacy and Malfoy had a right to be angry.

 

But he hoped Malfoy would forgive him. He hadn’t changed his mind about Malfoy. About not wanting whatever it was between them to end.

 

Harry rolled up and dropped his legs off the sofa, hanging his head. As he moved, he caught a light across the street. He frowned and stood up. A light had come on in Malfoy’s flat. Was that… his bathroom?

 

Harry was at the window in an instant. The light to Malfoy’s bathroom was on, and Malfoy was walking into it. His curtains remained open and Malfoy tapped his wand against the faucet and water started to fill up the bathtub. Harry’s breath stopped as Malfoy started unbuttoning his shirt, without even looking up at Harry… but… Malfoy knew, right? Malfoy knew that Harry watched him. Did he expect him not to? Did he want Harry to prove he could resist watching him? What was going through Malfoy’s head?

 

Just as Harry was about to back away from the window, Malfoy dropped his shirt on the floor and the water stopped flowing. Malfoy looked directly up into Harry’s flat and at Harry. It was hard to see his facial expression, but he turned his head towards the bath and then back to Harry, head tilted.

 

Was that… an invitation?

 

Malfoy reached down and cupped himself through the trousers he still wore.

 

Harry was at the door, forgetting his coat and nearly forgetting his shoes. But he managed to stumble into the hallway while he hopped on one foot at a time, unable to contain the thrill that ran up his spine. He wasn’t sure if he was right about Malfoy’s intentions, but he wasn’t going to let this pass without knowing.

 

*

 

Draco watched Potter disappear from the window and he smirked. He was rather pleased with how quickly Potter got the hint. But now his mind panicked and he glanced around the bathroom. Was there anything in there he needed to get rid of? No, why would he? Potter had gotten a pretty good look at his bathroom already. He pulled the door to the toilet shut and yanked open the drawers under the sink, fumbling with condoms and lube. Too eager, perhaps? No. This was only going to end one way and he wasn’t going to spend that time digging around drawers. He dropped them on the counter and snatched his wand up. What should he do with that? Should he keep it? He thought better of it and put it back on the counter.

 

There was a knock at the door.

 

_Don’t think too much, Draco._

 

Draco kept the mantra in his head as he forced himself to walk over to open the door. Potter was out of breath, leaning against the doorjamb. That was just an inviting sight wasn’t it? Potter had wanted it that bad? “That was fast,” Draco commented. He paused, letting his eyes graze over Potter’s body. Draco may have had to remind himself to swallow as he followed the line of Harry’s hipbones down to his thighs.

 

“Malfoy, I want you.”

 

Draco’s mind blanked for just a second before he managed to find the words he actually wanted to respond with. “How bad?”

 

“I want you so bad I can’t take it,” Potter stepped into the flat, forcing Draco to take a step back. The movement wasn’t menacing, but Potter’s expression seemed desperate. Potter had the mind to pull the door shut behind him and Draco only responded with a raised eyebrow. “I’m so sorry I watched you. Over and over. And I’m sorry about whatever happened at New Year’s. And I’m sorry about… everything. I’m so sorry, Malfoy. I’m ashamed of what I did. It was wrong.”

 

How many times did he need to apologize before the damned Gryffindor felt better about it?

 

What should Draco do? He could be earnest, admit he wanted Potter, too, and admit he knew someone was spying on him. It would certainly alleviate Potter’s guilt. But then… that wasn’t what he wanted to do. That wasn’t his way. Being honest would put them on a level playing field, so to speak, and Draco certainly didn’t want that. He could work this whole situation so that he had the advantage. And he could keep the situation in his control, at the very least.

 

So, he settled on partial honesty. “I can’t believe you spied on me, Potter,” he said. Perhaps he could use a little guilt-ridden Potter. The words did have a ring of truth to them – he couldn’t believe _Potter_ had been the one spying on him. But he left out the emphasis on ‘you’ in the sentence so it could be construed differently.

 

“Merlin, Malfoy, I’m sorry. Is there anything I can do to make it up to you?”

 

That was exactly what Draco had been wanting and why a guilty Potter was the best sort of Potter. “You can show me how much you want me.”

 

Potter blinked, as if that hadn’t been what he’d expecting. Had he not seen Draco’s little display? He wasn’t luring Potter over for a guilt-trip – well, maybe just a little one to get Potter more compliant – but he wasn’t planning on throwing Potter out after he’d done so. “What?”

 

“Potter, I spend every weekend in my bath with my hand on my cock, fucking myself senseless. I think it would be nice if I didn’t have to do that myself. And since you’ve already seen everything and seen what I like…”

 

At least this time, Potter didn’t waste any time questioning it. He had his hands on each side of Draco’s jaw and backed him into a wall, lips crushing against Draco’s. He could feel Potter’s glasses knocked askew by the contact and his body was pressed flush against him. Draco dug his fingers into the soft fabric of Potter’s t-shirt.

 

Potter slid his tongue into Draco’s mouth and rolled his hips against Draco’s. Draco inhaled sharply against Potter’s chapped lips. Draco pulled away slightly. “What were you thinking when you watched me?”

 

“I was thinking I have a lot to live up to.”

 

“I hope you were taking notes,” Draco yanked Potter’s shirt out of his pants.

 

“I was also thinking how much I’d like to get into that bath of yours.”

 

“That can be arranged,” Draco replied with a smirk, grabbing the top of Potter’s trousers and tugging him along.  Potter leaned forward as they walked, head dipping towards Draco’s neck, but he paused. “Did I do that?” Potter’s tone was confused as he pulled away and Draco had to think for a moment about what he was referring to. Oh. That ugly bruise on his neck that he’d found that morning. The one that looked suspiciously like a bite mark.

 

“You are the most likely candidate,” Draco said with no small amount of sarcasm.

 

Potter’s brows furrowed and he stopped walking. “Did you like it?” He asked, looking from the bruise to catch Draco’s gaze.

 

Draco scoffed, feeling a bit put off by the question. “I don’t exactly remember, do I, Potter?” He replied testily. But he took a moment to think about it. “But you don’t have a black eye. So either I liked it or my aim was off.”

 

Potter raised his eyebrows and Draco pulled him in for a kiss so he would stop looking at him like that.

 

“Bath’s going to get cold if you don’t hurry up,” he said as he pulled out of the kiss. He dragged Potter through the bedroom and into the bathroom. Potter tossed his glasses on the counter, not even taking note of the items already there. He was on Draco in an instant, hands threading through his hair and pulling him impossibly close as their tongues met.

 

Draco was pulling up on Potter’s t-shirt, fingers running over his chest and abdomen.

 

“You like your nipples rubbed, right?” Potter breathed into his ear and Draco shivered. Like he would say no to that.

 

“Fuck, Potter,” Draco breathed, one hand cupping Potter through his trousers. Potter inhaled sharply. “When did you get so hot?”

 

Potter moved his lips down Draco’s neck, fingers sliding down his bare collarbone and over one of his nipples. Draco shivered. “When did you get so good with your hands?”

 

“Lots of practice,” Draco smirked. “You should know. You’ve been watching,” he grabbed Potter’s trousers, shirt now abandoned, and pulled at the zipper.

 

Potter seemed to blush, but Draco wasn’t going to let him linger too much on his actions. He needed a slightly-guilty Potter who was willing to suck Draco’s cock as a way of making up for his indiscretion – not a Potter who was so guilt-ridden that he couldn’t even look at Draco.

 

Potter pulled back just slightly to take off his shirt and toss it on the floor near Draco’s. Draco yanked Potter’s trousers down and grabbed the elastic of Potter’s pants as well. Why did he bother wearing both? It was a redundancy.

 

_It’s just Potter’s prick, Draco. Why bother being nervous?_

Draco pulled them down as well, kissing Harry as he did so. He felt Potter’s hard cock brush against his own trousers and he moved his hand down between them. Potter kissed harder when Draco touched the tip and slid his fingers down over it. He didn’t even break the kiss as he stepped out of his trousers and pants, just took a small step forward that had Draco near the edge of the bath.

 

“Your turn,” Potter said breathlessly as he pulled away just a bit. Draco and Potter’s hands went for his zipper at the same time, but Potter deftly undid the button and zipper in the blink of an eye. Draco shoved his trousers down and stepped out of them. He glanced down and moved away from Potter just slightly, grabbing his wand from the sink. He dug it against his leg and removed the sticking charm. Tossing his wand back on the counter – something he’d probably grimace about in hindsight, Draco removed the false leg and sunk down to sit at the edge of the bath. His face ended up eye level with Potter’s heavy cock. Before he even thought about what he wanted to do, Potter was following him into the water. He cupped Draco’s jaw with both hands, pulling him into a standing position, and kissed him several times in quick succession. Malfoy easily balanced since he was in thigh-deep water and holding onto Potter.

 

Potter slid down into the seat in the bath, his fingers grazing down Draco’s hips and around to his prick. Draco’s breath caught in his throat and he dared not to move as Potter leaned forward slowly. He glanced up at Draco, but didn’t seem to be hesitating. He slid his lips over the head of Draco’s cock.

 

Draco didn’t care that he moaned Potter’s name as his tongue slid along the underside. He leaned forward just a bit to catch the side of the tub with his hand to steady himself. Potter moved his head a few times before Draco pulled away and dipped lower into the water, kissing Potter. Potter manoeuvred himself so that their cocks touched and Draco reached down, wrapping his hand around both.

 

Potter slipped his hand down so that his finger brushed against Draco’s hole. He pulled away slightly, shocked by the touch. “You’re not fucking me like that, Potter,” he hissed. There was no way he was going to let Potter fuck his arse. No way in hell.

 

“Can I use my fingers?” Potter asked quietly and Draco caught his eye, staring at him in consideration. Did he want to feel someone’s fingers inside him? Yes. Did he want to feel Potter’s fingers inside him? Probably yes.

 

“Yes.”

 

Potter grinned and wiggled his finger until it breached Draco. Draco inhaled deeply, but kept his hand on their cocks moving, uncaring about the water that was splashing out of the bath. It was strange to feel something moving inside him that he didn’t have control of.

 

“Get that stupid look off your face,” Draco commanded, but Potter just smiled wider.

 

“I just realized how crazy this is.”

 

“Merlin, Potter, not now,” Draco started kissing Potter’s neck so he didn’t have to look at his stupid face.

 

“You have to admit, it’s a little weird.”

 

Was he still talking?! “Less talking, Potter, or I’ll put your mouth back to work,” he warned.

 

“That might be what I’m hoping for.”

 

Draco lifted his head and eyed Harry, but he just grabbed Potter’s erection instead, movement of his hand impeded by the water, but it was still hot and hard beneath his hand. He started pumping his arm and Potter returned the favour, thumb brushing over the slit of Draco’s cock. Draco pressed his lips together to stifle the moan threatening to escape.

 

“Fuck, Potter,” he finally managed to hiss. He felt his cock throbbing. He was getting close. Potter pulled his finger out of Draco and grabbed the back of Draco’s neck.  Potter was kissing Draco again, fingers massaging his neck.

 

Draco came first, swearing under his breath as Potter’s hand worked his orgasm out of him. “Stand, Potter,” Draco panted and Potter complied, moving away from him and standing so that his cock was eye level again. Still breathing heavily, Draco took him in his mouth. Potter’s back arched slightly and he gasped. Draco slid his lips in small, quick motions, but it wasn’t long before Potter was shooting cum in his mouth. Draco coughed only once in surprise and swallowed as Potter sank back into the bath.

 

He sat down beside Draco and looked at the window rather than at him. “What now?” He asked after several moments of silence.

 

Draco’s mind hadn’t exactly been working in those few seconds and he wasn’t in any hurry to kick it into gear. “Maybe we should close the curtains,” he suggested and Potter laughed.

 

“I could… get used to doing this,” Potter said slowly, turning his head towards Draco, but Draco didn’t dare face him.

 

 _No thinking, Draco._ “Oh, Potter, we’re not even close to being done. “


	12. Moments

_Three months later…_

 

“We don’t sell to your kind.”

 

Draco pressed his lips together, resisting any sort of rebuttal. It was very difficult not to resort to telling the shop owner off, but he couldn’t. With his history, any unpleasant word from him and he could end up in Azkaban. Very patiently and very evenly he responded, “I just want to make a salve.”

 

“We don’t sell to your kind,” the man repeated, arms folded over his chest.

 

“I’m not doing anything else with them,” Draco gestured to the ingredients he’d laid on the counter. He’d been getting any medical potions and salves he could from St. Mungo’s, but the nurse at the apothecary had begun to notice how often Draco was picking up a healing salve. Damn Potter and his affinity for biting.

 

He’d thought, maybe, after nearly six years removed from the war that a simple potions shop owner could be a little more forgiving and let him buy the ingredients. Draco had even continued to wear his healer’s robes. But venturing out into the WIzarding World never went well for him. To be fair, it was much better now. He didn’t know if he’d be able to stand it anymore if it were like it was during the first year after the war. At least people didn’t fancy spitting on him anymore. For the most part, he was ignored. If anything, he might have gotten a glare or two, but he could brush those off easily.

 

“My wife was a muggleborn,” the man said with such malice Draco felt like ice splintered through him. Without another word, Draco left the shop. He was relieved when the door shut behind him, but no less frustrated. He couldn’t ask anyone else to buy potions ingredients for him – anyone else would have questions and Potter… he didn’t want to owe Potter any favours.

 

Draco quickly slipped through Diagon Alley, thankfully avoiding any trouble. He paused outside the Leaky Cauldron, eyes caught by a headline: _Harry Potter’s Secret Affair._ Draco quickly looked around and dropped a knut by the vendor and grabbed the paper before he could be denied service. He hurried away with it, smoothing out the page to read the article. He walked into the Leaky Cauldron and took a seat, his face covered by the paper and the owner was over in an instant.

 

“Anything I can get you?”

 

“Coffee,” he said simply and the woman disappeared. Draco didn’t even notice how quick service was as he examined the picture of Potter, who was trying to duck out of the picture. That was how most of his photos were, Draco assumed, but it looked particularly appropriate with the headline.

 

 _The Wizarding World’s most eligible bachelor, Harry Potter_ – Draco scoffed. Despite the fact that he was regularly shagging Potter – _may very well be off the market. Much to the chagrin of every witch across Great Britain, Harry Potter has been reported by friends as being engaged in a very secretive relationship he refuses to divulge to even his closest friends._ Draco rolled his eyes. Friends was probably an exaggeration, if not an outright lie. No way Potter’s friends would ever talk to the Prophet. _Mr. Potter has been seen less frequently out and about in the Wizarding World and often tells companions that he is on a date._ Is that what Potter called it? _But why all the mystery? As Mr. Potter has not been seen in the Wizarding World, could he, in fact, be dating a Muggle? Or, after Mr. Potter’s public revelation a few years ago about his bisexuality, could Mr. Potter be dating a man? Perhaps the secrecy is due to shame. See page A10 for speculation on who Mr. Potter’s new romance could be._

Draco rifled through the pages a bit violently, making more noise than was absolutely necessary. On the page, the first picture he saw was of Ginny Weasley, which made a sudden jolt of jealousy tighten his throat.

 

There were several pictures of anyone people thought it was possible Potter was dating. There were mostly women, but Draco couldn’t help but laugh humourlessly when he saw Neville Longbottom on the list. Their reasoning seemed to be that he was single and around Potter sometimes.

 

Honestly, Draco had been terrified his name would be on there. So why did it bother him that it wasn’t? The fact that Potter might be with him just was too outlandish to cross anyone’s minds?

 

“Malfoy?” He flinched when he heard a voice and saw Abbott holding his mug of coffee in one hand. “I didn’t recognize you at first. You had your face in that paper,” she said slowly and put his coffee down in front of him. Draco was a little surprised she was serving him after knowing who he was. He supposed that was just his mindset after the incident at the potions shop. Abbott served him when he was with Neville, but he never came into the Leaky Cauldron otherwise. “Can I ask you a question?”

 

Draco frowned in confusion, but nodded.

 

Even more surprisingly, she slid into the seat across from him. “You’re pretty good friends with Neville, right? I mean, you seem to eat here together quite a bit.”

 

Draco nodded slowly, a few ideas of where this was going.

 

“I was wondering if Neville was single.”

 

Yes, that was the best possible scenario he’d imagined up. Draco closed the paper and looked at Abbott. “Yes, he is.” After all, Neville was quite taken with the girl.

 

“Do you think – I mean –“ she tucked a strand of hair behind her ear “- he would be interested?”

 

“Yes, of course,” Draco responded without thinking. But Abbott seemed immensely pleased by his answer.

 

She smiled and stood up. “Thank you, Malfoy.”

 

Draco felt a little bit better as she walked away, but it only lasted a moment. His eyes slid back to the paper on the table and he stood up, leaving his coffee, a sickle, and the paper behind. Potter was scheduled to visit tonight. At least he had that to look forward to.

 

*

 

Potter had barely gotten into the door when Draco was on him, mouth crashing into Potter’s urgently.

 

Potter’s grunt of shock was muffled, but it sounded something like “Malfoy.” He managed to wrestle his lips from Draco within seconds, though he seemed reluctant to do so. “What is going on?”

 

“I had a bad day,” Draco pulled him inside and slammed the door shut, rattling the mirror hanging in the entry. “Do what you do best and make me forget about it,” he said and was already pulling at Potter’s trousers.

 

“Malfoy, Malfoy, hold up,” Potter said, but didn’t actually make a move to stop Draco. “Maybe you want to actually talk about it for once?”

 

Draco pulled away and narrowed his eyes incredulously. “You’d rather talk?”

 

Potter had the decency to look sheepish. “Well, no, but-“

 

Draco was on him again before he could finish. Potter had started to become like this, though, and it was a bit disconcerting. Draco wasn’t ready to date Potter. That was too strange. Too complicated. But casual sex, well, that was meaningless. Fun, but meaningless. But Potter had started pushing here and there and Draco was worried about the direction it was taking. Last week, Potter had tried to convince Draco to call him Harry. Draco had shut that down quickly. First-name basis meant they were something more than what they’d ever been. Draco wasn’t going to take that step.

 

A relationship with Potter would mean too many things. If he started dating Potter, they couldn’t keep it a secret forever – there was no way Potter would let that happen. Potter would not keep it a secret from Granger and Weasley. And, eventually, it would get out to everyone else. Potter was too public a figure and Draco was definitely newsworthy if he was dating Harry Fucking Potter. And Draco didn’t want publicity again. He’d been careful to stay out of the limelight since his trial.

 

He didn’t want his fears from earlier about the _Prophet_ to one day come true.

 

If people found out Draco was in a relationship with Potter, the history he was so desperate to get away from would be dug back up and splashed across the front page of the _Prophet._ They would call him ‘Death Eater’ and remind everyone of his misdeeds during the war. He would be vilified and treated even worse by the Wizarding World for daring to taint their hero.

 

For now, he was content. Most people seemed quite all right leaving him alone as long as he remained as invisible as possible. He was just getting to a comfortable place in his life. He didn’t want everyone reacting to him the way the shop owner had.

 

And he didn’t know how Potter’s personal friends would react. Granger might be disapproving, but wouldn’t take it as a personal offense and Weasley might be tempered by her, but Potter had more staunchly vehement friends. And what would Mrs. Weasley, Potter’s surrogate mother, think? He didn’t think she would be so disgusted by the situation that she would change her relationship with Potter, but he didn’t think Potter deserved to be seen differently by the woman who was closest to being his mother.

 

Draco couldn’t let anything change. There was too much at risk. He was happier than he remembered being and he would stop Potter’s attempts at changing their relationship at every turn. 

 

Potter still seemed distracted, so Draco decided that perhaps he could share some good news with him. “I’ve got something to tell you,” Draco pulled out of the kiss and Potter frowned. “How do you feel about me coming to the Auror offices?”

 

Potter’s eyebrows shot up into his fringe. “Really?”

 

“They needed one of the Thickey Ward healers to testify about a patient’s state of health for an upcoming hearing. I volunteered,” Draco said as lightly as possible. Potter opened his mouth, but quickly closed it, seemingly reconsidering his words. Draco was at least relieved for that. Potter could sometimes choose his words in a less than careful manner. And he didn’t need Potter questioning why Draco was allowed to testify on a patient’s behalf at a hearing. The auror who was told seemed to have the same thought process about Draco’s credibility, but his supervisor had held his ground that Draco was a trustworthy and qualified healer. It had been a bit of a shock, of course, and it was a big step in the right direction.

 

“When are you going to be there?”

 

“Next Tuesday at three.”

 

“Better than a medical cupboard,” Potter grinned. “And people might start getting suspicious every time I come into St. Mungo’s.”

 

“Yes, I knew you’d be pleased,” Draco frowned in response, but he certainly didn’t mind it, either. Potter had been wanting Draco to find an excuse to show up at his work so they could have a quick one in some closet or another. “Think you could figure out where I’m testifying and come find me when it’s over?”

 

“Definitely,” Potter nodded and, like Draco expected, Potter kissed him much more feverishly, pushing him back onto the sofa. He hadn’t been able to see Potter since he found out and he wasn’t planning on sharing it by owl. It was better to think about him and Potter fucking in a closet than about his day or the article.

 

The article.

 

“Then again, Potter. It might not be a good idea.”

 

Potter pulled away and frowned. “What?”

 

Draco glanced away quickly, but his gaze eventually came back to settle on Potter. “Did you see the _Prophet_ today?”

 

“I don’t read that rag,” Potter scoffed. “I didn’t think you did, either.”

 

Draco tried not to think about Potter knowing something like that about him. “I don’t usually. But it happened to catch my eye today. Something about you having a secret affair.”

 

Potter made a dismissive sound at the back of his throat. “Must have been a slow news say. They print stuff about my love life when they don’t have anything better to report on.”

 

“It’s a little disconcerting since that particularly headline happens to be true.”

 

With a shrug, Potter said, “they were bound to get it right once. I’ve been having secret affairs since I was fourteen according to them. I wouldn’t worry about it, Draco-“

 

“Malfoy,” he corrected automatically, but Potter ploughed on.

 

“They don’t know about what’s going on. It’s just wild speculation.”

 

Draco sighed heavily. “Well, I certainly wasn’t a suspect for your tawdry mistress.”

 

“See?” Potter smiled and moved to kiss down his neck.

 

Honestly, Draco had been the one to break the first rule he’d set down about his and Potter’s sexual excursions. No talking. It was a bit too weird not to talk to Potter when he had his mouth on his cock. And it made things feel more normal between them if they could bicker like they usually did. Draco quite enjoyed it, actually.

 

The second rule – fingers only – wasn’t in effect, either. Draco had vetoed that about a month in. The third rule – no first names – seemed to be barely holding on sometimes. Draco had nearly slipped a few weeks prior.

 

They had several rules to keep their casual sex just that. Some of them they kept to strictly: no acknowledging each other in public with anything more than a “hello,”

 

And then some constantly got stretched: no talking about the leg. Potter seemed to quite like talking about it. He treated that part of Draco’s body with much more tenderness than Draco was ready to acknowledge in any way. He was certain Potter would insist he wasn’t doing anything differently. But Draco felt a bit sick to his stomach when Potter did it regardless. He knew it stemmed from Potter’s guilt and what the injury meant between them. Potter saw it as some great sacrifice on Draco’s part to save Potter’s life. Draco didn’t see it that way. He’d worked hard not to notice it at all and to just get used to it. For him it reminded him of the darkest time in his life, and it reminded him of his own cowardice. But he didn’t have the heart to tell Potter that.

 

Draco felt his trousers being pulled and he spotted Potter’s hand working up _that_ leg under his trousers. “What are you doing?”

 

“Taking it off. You remember what happened last Friday.”

 

Draco was happy to latch onto remembering that incident rather than the other thoughts going through his mind. He was always happy to insult Potter at every turn. Though the insults were no longer filled with the malice of their youth. “Last Friday was your fault. You need practice taking off a bloke’s trousers.”

 

“It’s easier to take the leg off first,” Harry pointed out. “Maybe you should just stop wearing such tight trousers and we wouldn’t have a problem.”

 

“Please, Potter. I know you like tight trousers,” Draco smirked. Harry’s silence was expected. “If you want to take it off here, then this had better be your end game, Potter. I’m not going to hop to the bedroom, so you’ll have to wait for me to put it back on.”

 

“I could just carry you.”

 

“I’d like to see you try.”

 

“Well, you weigh, what? One or two stone less without your leg? I can manage.”

 

“You’re not carrying me, Potter,” Draco repeated firmly and Harry frowned.

 

“Fine. I like your sofa, anyways. It’s comfortable.”

_One week later…_

 

This was strange. It was different. Potter had planned to come over Saturday night and Draco had just come off a double shift. He didn’t actually want to owl Potter and tell him not to come, but he was tired. Exhausted, really. And it seemed Potter was in the same predicament. He hadn’t owled to cancel, either. So, he shuffled in well after dusk. Draco had stopped letting Potter in – he just left the door unlocked when he expected him. It was good that Draco lived in a Muggle building. Otherwise the person at the front desk might notice Harry Potter heading up to Draco’s floor once, sometimes a couple times a week.

 

Potter had noticed Draco on the sofa, laying on his back, and flopped onto the opposite end, where there was just enough room for him to sit. Potter’s hand slid up the trouser leg of Draco’s real leg and he just brushed the skin there. They were silent as Harry did so, Draco staring at the ceiling and Potter looking out the window, at his former flat. Potter’s undercover work had been done for two months and he’d moved out shortly after.

 

Potter looked just as tired at Draco felt. Draco wanted to ask what happened, but that wasn’t their arrangement. If he asked, then Potter might see it as an invitation. One of them had to consider the consequences of a changing relationship. And it wasn’t Potter.

 

After a long moment, Draco sat up, scooting closer to Potter. He slipped his hand into Potter’s hair and pressed his lips gently against his. Potter responded, kissing him back languidly, but it took several seconds before he even moved his arms from their position. He slid his hands against Draco’s back.

 

Draco wasn’t sure how long they’d stayed like that – unmoving except to kiss each other slowly. It felt like an eternity of having Potter’s lips against his. Draco finally dropped his head against Harry’s shoulder when he began to feel too tired to continue.

 

“You know,” Potter said quietly and Draco couldn’t work up the energy to grimace, “Ron and Hermione are asking when they’re going to meet this boyfriend of mine.”

 

Draco snorted. “Well, maybe you shouldn’t have made up a boyfriend.”

 

Potter paused now, his breathing steady. Draco’s eyes were open, watching the steady rise and fall of Potter’s chest. “I was wondering if I could tell them that I’m dating you now.”

 

Draco frowned and lifted his head. Potter was looking at him, his gaze a bit too hopeful. “And why would you do that? We’re not dating, Potter. We’re having sex.”

 

“Can’t we do both?”

 

Draco dropped his legs from Potter’s lap. Potter couldn’t be serious. Draco had made it abundantly clear the relationship was not going to progress further. So why did Potter keep insisting upon it? “Potter, things are better this way. I know you’re a Gryffindor, but people can have sex without dating.”

 

“What if I don’t want them to be this way anymore?”

 

“You only have two options,” Draco said firmly, his exhaustion leaving him as frustration began to set it. “Either we have what we do now, or we have nothing. There’s nothing else.”

 

Potter sighed heavily, his gaze leaving Draco and turning back to the window. Draco set his jaw, fighting any urge he might be feeling to give in. “Can’t we at least use first names?” He asked after a long moment.

 

“You can call me Draco. But you’re still Potter to me.”

 

What else could he do? His threat wasn’t empty, but he didn’t want to lose what he and Potter had together. And if he wouldn’t concede on anything, Potter might decide Draco wasn’t worth it. Eventually, he knew, Potter would decide this. It wouldn’t go on indefinitely. But if he could just hold onto Potter for as long as possible…

 

Potter finally turned his attention back to Draco, hand sliding against his neck, and leaning in. “Draco,” he said quietly, though Draco didn’t know if he was testing the sound of the name on his tongue or he had intended to tell Draco something only to get distracted by his lips.

 

Draco fell into the kiss. Things were changing and as much as Draco hated change, he couldn’t help but feel happy at the thought. Potter wasn’t Potter anymore – at least, not in his mind. Maybe on his lips, but in his thoughts Potter was Harry. That was his first kiss with Harry.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mmm cheese. Smut next chapter.
> 
> The next chapter will be delayed due to exams. Sorry, guys!


	13. A Good? Bad? Day

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apparently my exams lasted over a year. Ha! I'm hilarious. 
> 
> Please don't kill me.

Draco had barely opened his eyes when he felt a hand snaking over his hip. He was briefly alarmed at the unknown presence on his couch until he realized it was Harry. And he became quite a bit more alarmed. Draco didn’t quite remember falling asleep, but Harry had been there late, hadn’t he? But when had they ended up spooning on the couch? Draco must have been extremely tired to fall asleep with Harry like this. It was far more intimate than he liked.

 

Though he had to admit, he didn’t mind Harry’s wake-up call. Harry was pressed flush against his back, his half hard cock pressed against Draco’s arse and his hand finding the front of Draco’s trousers.

 

“Good morning to you, too, Potter,” Draco responded groggily.

 

“Well, we didn’t get around to it last night,” Harry muttered into his ear, fingers struggling to undo the button on Draco’s trousers. Draco obliged and helped him, only barely registering that he had work today. Draco relaxed just enough that he wouldn’t fall off the sofa as Harry’s hand ran languidly over his cock. Draco pulled the throw pillow to his mouth and moaned into it. His cock responded immediately to Harry’s touch. 

 

“No fucking me,” Draco warned. “I don’t have the time or energy for a shower before work.” 

 

“Draco, they’re called cleaning spells.”

 

“Cleaning spells are not a replacement for actual washing, you disgusting idiot.”

 

“And I have never seen you use that shower once.” 

 

“Bath, shower, whatever. I’m not going to wash up before work and cleaning spells are not enough to get your… scent off me.” 

 

“My scent?”

 

“No fucking me, Potter.” 

 

“That’s all right,” Harry shifted, causing Draco to roll onto his back. Harry crawled over him easily. Harry didn’t hesitate at all before pulling his own cock out of his trousers. Draco reached down to grab it, keeping his movements gentle at first until precum began to ooze out of the tip.  He ran his fingers over it, spreading it over Harry’s prick. He'd been so focused he jumped a little when Harry's lips were suddenly on his, blocking his precious view. But Draco let his eyelids flutter closed and his hand left Harry's erection to wrap around his back. One of Harry's hands were braced against the sofa cushions and the other found its way to Draco’s cheek. The kiss was intimate and slow, heated in a way that burned and settled in the pit of Draco's stomach. He quite liked it. Their cocks brushed against each other, but their attention was fully immersed in the kiss. Draco shifted his leg up to press against Harry's hip and draw them closer together. 

 

Harry tilted his head so he could slip his tongue deeper into Draco's mouth. Draco moaned against the sensation, not even bothering to hold it back. What was the point? He was far too tired to care if Harry knew he was enjoying himself. 

 

Slowly, Harry started rolling his hips, grinding down against Draco. Draco's fingers made their way up to Harry's messy hair and dug into his scalp. He brought his hips up to meet Harry. 

 

Finally, he pulled away to catch a few desperate breaths, but Harry barely allowed him that before he found Draco's lips again. 

 

“Be my boyfriend,” Harry insisted against his lips. 

 

“No,” Draco murmured back. 

 

A few more rolls of his hips, their cocks knocking and rubbing against each other, and Harry came, his cum splashing on Draco's stomach. But Harry wasn't selfish, even as his breath came in hot pants against Draco's mouth, he moved his hand down to stroke Draco until he came. When he did, Harry pulled away slightly, “please.”

 

“Don't beg, Harry. It doesn't become you.” 

 

Harry pulled away almost immediately, staring down at Draco. It took barely a second for Draco to realize what he'd done. 

 

“Don't,” Draco hissed, shoving Harry's arm away and getting into a sitting position. He quickly summoned his leg over. 

 

“I have to get to work. See you Tuesday, Potter.”

 

“Yeah. See you Tuesday,” Harry echoed.

 

It seemed everyday brought changes for Draco. He couldn’t even manage a quiet day at work anymore, it seemed. Either Harry was slipping into St. Mungo’s for a shag or his supervisor was offering him up for a consultation hearing. It seemed today would be the most surprising of them all.

 

Draco had been trying to have a quiet day with his thoughts, going about his daily routine with a parchment in hand, when the doors to the ward flew open.

 

“Healer Malfoy!”

 

Draco whirled around, caught off guard by the urgent shout coming from the entry. Healer Patil’s robes were covered in blood and she’d barely seemed to have thought to remove her gloves. She looked panicked and disheveled.

 

And desperate.

 

“We need your help.”

 

Bewildered, Draco just nodded mutely. He dropped the parchment and quill in his hands and Patil grabbed his arm, giving Draco no time to consider what he could possibly be needed for before they disapparated and reappeared in a trauma room. Healers were so tightly packed inside that Draco considered it a miracle he and Patil hadn’t been splinched. The room was filled with agonizing screams that threatened to split apart Draco’s skull – he had to fight the urge to cover his ears and scream a silencing spell, but he resisted.

 

“Our pain spells aren’t working,” Patil pushed through the sea of green robes and hauled Draco over to the bed in the room. “Please help her.”

 

Draco pulled out his wand as he glanced down at the patient, suddenly understanding Healer Patil’s state. Padma Patil was lying on the bed, soaked in blood, and part of her arm and leg were missing. Draco glanced up from the gruesome sight, just briefly, to look at Parvati.

 

Draco pointed his wand at Padma, using the pain spell of his own design that had gotten him through much of the war. Padma’s shrieks faded immediately to violent whimpers and she seemed to gain enough coherence to find her sister’s face in the crowd above her. Tears were leaking from her eyes and mingling with blood splattered across her cheeks. Another healer cast a quick cleaning spell and much of the blood vanished, giving Draco a good look at the remainder of her arm and leg. The damage was certainly done with dark magic, but something else was wrong – losing a limb to dark magic was certainly excruciating, but it wouldn’t account for the violent fit Padma seemed to have experienced, nor the strange mottling of skin around the wound – it seemed the skin was trying to pull off of her body.

 

“What did you do?” He hissed at Parvati, who balked and backed away.

 

“I’m sorry. When I saw the state she was in – I wasn’t thinking –“ her voice went up an octave. “I should have checked to see if it was a dark spell. You have to reattach limbs quickly-“

 

“You tried to reattach her limbs?!” Draco shoved a few of the healers out of the way in a state of anger. Shockingly, none of them reacted. Parvati followed, pointing in the direction of what Draco was after without being asked. He found the lost limbs in stasis near the back of the room. Draco steeled himself and then waved his wand at them. They disintegrated.

 

Parvati didn’t berate him for the action – she turned and pointed her wand at her sister. “Finite incantatem.”

 

Padma’s skin immediately stopped pulling and another healer stopped the bleeding from the wounds.

 

“They can’t reattach because it’s dark magic, but the spell would keep trying regardless,” Draco explained to Parvati, his voice much calmer than before, as they moved back to Padma’s bedside.

 

“I know,” Parvati admitted quietly. “I was just so panicked. I can’t lose her.”

  
“You won’t. You just lost a bit of her.” Draco’s dry humor withered under the glare Parvati leveled at him. “You lot can handle it from here, right? The pain spell should last a couple of hours.” Quickly and trying not to think too much about it, Draco added, “meet me for lunch. I want to tell you something. Come get me if you need anymore pain spells.”

At lunch, Draco was surprised when Parvati actually found him in the cafeteria. He had mostly expected her not to accept his invitation. In fact, he had _hoped_ she would ignore it. As the day went on, he was grew more and more nervous about his decision to talk to her. But, here she was. He couldn't back down now, right?

 

“What did you want to tell me?” Parvati asked, sliding into the seat across from Draco with a tray of food Draco knew she was unlikely to eat.

 

“I-“ Draco began but found the words shriveling up in his mouth. He glanced away from Parvati. Acting on Slytherin ways had not always been a wise choice for him, but even in the face of that, it was difficult to take a page out of the Book of Gryffindor and have a little courage. He wanted to tell Parvati about his leg, which was a bit of a shocking revelation. Perhaps he’d spent too long in the Janus Thickey Ward. Or perhaps Harry was getting to him about it. Harry had a way of making it seem inconsequential – less of an issue than Draco made it out to be. He still didn’t want anyone to know about it – but Harry and Neville both knew and managed to keep his secret. And he might be able to help Parvati and Padma.

 

“Padma’s an Unspeakable,” Parvati said into the quiet. Draco hadn’t realized he’d lapsed into his thoughts for so long. “I don’t know much about what she does.”

 

Draco looked down at the lunch he hadn’t even touched, but didn’t respond.

 

“She seemed excited about what she was working on, though. She told me it was important.”

 

“It seems someone didn’t like it.” Like a ghost, Harry seemed to have managed to materialize right beside them, giving Draco a start, but Parvati jumped to her feet and wrapped her arms around him. Draco felt a small, very surprising spike of jealousy that was instantly quashed at the once-over Harry gave Draco over Parvati’s shoulder.

 

“Are you the auror on this case, Harry?” Parvati asked and Harry nodded as she pulled away. “Thank Merlin,” she smiled and then turned towards Draco. “You remember Healer Malfoy,” she introduced, as if she didn’t know Harry and Draco had a rather famous history of animosity.

 

“Of course. He saved my life. On more than one occasion,” he added, the tone of his voice meaningful.

 

Draco shot him a confused look that he hoped Parvati didn’t catch. Harry wasn’t being nearly as cold as usual. And they were in front of people. They were supposed to be simply civil. Nothing more. 

 

“When can I talk to you about your sister?”

 

“I'm free at three,” Parvati offered. 

 

“Thank you. And, Healer Malfoy, I heard you assisted on the team of healers. I'd like to hear your thoughts on the dark magic that might have been used.” 

 

Draco narrowed his eyes, trying to figure out if Harry meant what he said or if he was taking the opportunity for another shag. Either way, “just find me after you're done talking to Healer Patil.” 

 

“All right. See you later. Healer Patil. Healer Malfoy.” And with that, he left. 

 

Parvati turned back to Draco. He was a little surprised she hadn't offered up the time he requested with her to Harry. People were usually quick to drop everything for Harry's every whim. And usually quick to cast Draco aside whenever possible. 

 

“What were you going to tell me?”

 

Draco glanced around to make sure no one was listening in. Just do it fast, he told himself. Make it quick before you change your mind. “I know something of your sister’s predicament. I mean-” he quickly changed tactics when he saw the look at Parvati’s face. “About having limbs severed by dark spells. If she needs any advice or something like that-” 

 

Parvati’s expression relaxed and softened. For a moment, it seemed as if she thought Draco had something to do with her attack. She nodded briefly and then sucked in a breath. “You mean your leg.”

 

It was Draco’s turn to be surprised. Actually, the feeling was more ill than anything else. How had she known about his leg? Did someone else know? Had she been told? Was it obvious? “How did you know about that?” He hissed, his voice a mixture of vehemence and vulnerability that he couldn’t control.

 

“I didn’t. I’ve seen you walk a bit stiffly from time to time. I figured it was a war injury. And you just told me you had a severed limb.” 

 

“I walk stiffly?” 

 

“I’m a healer. We notice these things,” Parvati shrugged. “Actually, at first I thought it might be-” she cut herself off and flushed. She made a clearing sound in her throat and started eating her lunch. 

 

Now Draco was even more confused. “You thought it might be what?” 

 

“It’s not important what I thought,” Parvati grabbed her tray quickly and stood. “Thank you, Healer Malfoy, for all your help. And I’ll let Padma know there is someone she can talk to. I want to add that I’m thankful you’ve changed since Hogwarts. And if you ever need anything… don’t hesitate to ask.” 

 

She quickly turned heel and hurried away. Draco stood. “You thought it might be what?!” He called after her, but she was gone. Draco sighed heavily. At least he had Harry’s visit to look forward to that afternoon. 

 

Unfortunately, it wasn't their best fuck. Actually, Draco would rank it down in the bottom three. They were both on completely different wavelengths. Draco wanted it rough, angry, and quick to cancel out the intimacy of their morning session. But it seemed Harry wanted to pursue that intimacy as much as humanly possible. 

 

Draco stumbled home after his shift, barely glancing at the bath enticing him from his bedroom. He simply couldn’t allow himself to move anywhere from his bed. What an odd day. He couldn’t even place if it had been good or bad. Bad, maybe? He hoped tomorrow would be better. He sighed heavily into his mattress and eventually fell asleep still fully dressed. 

 

*

 

With each visit, Harry felt more and more conflicted about what to do with Draco. And he wasn’t sure who he could talk to about it. He’d never felt terribly comfortable asking Ron about these things. Hermione was the smartest and most sensible person he knew… but she was somewhat too sensible. Matters where emotion clouded logic could sometimes be lost on her. There was Ginny and Neville, of course. He was close enough to both of them, but talking to them about it didn’t feel quite right. He rather wished he had someone he thought of immediately when he had these needs.

He needed Draco. It sounded strange to think it, but Draco, he’d found, was a good person to seek when he needed advice. Even if he had to shag Draco senseless before he could even broach any sort of conversation. Draco was a little less determined to guard that wall between them when he was in post-coital bliss. But whenever he could coerce some advice out of Draco, it was pretty good – and delivered just the way Harry preferred. Well, maybe not EXACTLY. But Draco didn’t make it awkward or baby him. He was straightforward and no-nonsense.

“Malfoy-“

“I really need to institute a no-talking-after-sex rule.”

“It would be kept about as well as most of your other ones.”

“True enough.”

“I was just going to say that Ron has been driving me a little – he’s been –“

“Aggravating?”

“Yes. Exactly. I just need a little space, but he’s my partner, so I can’t really get away from him.”

“Stop right there, Potter. I assume Aurors have a training programme-“

“Yes.”

“And I imagine they’re always looking for experienced Aurors to pair up with them.”

“Yes.”

“Then just tell Weasley you’re going to do that. Come up with some rubbish excuse like you were asked to, or the trainee needs some big help, or you felt you needed to or some other soft-hearted Gryffindor thing.”

Sure, Draco’s somewhat bluntly-delivered advice had worked on numerous other occasions (which made Harry wonder why Draco couldn’t seem to manage to follow good advice during the war, to which his own mind responded both that Draco had changed and perhaps he was somewhat blind when it came to being able to help himself, much like Harry was.) But what would Draco say to this situation? How would Harry even phrase it?

“I’ve been seeing, well… not even sure that’s the word for it… this total prat for months now-“

Without any imagination, imaginary!Draco responded easily, “If he’s a total prat, why are you ‘seeing’ him?”

“Well, it’s more complicated than that.”

“Merlin, Potter, are you digging for advice again? Fine. What is it?”

“There’s this bloke I’ve known since we were kids and we really didn’t get along before, but I started shagging him a few months ago. In secret. Well, it’s a bit more complicated than that – “

“So you keep saying.”

“I mean, we met back up when he may have saved my life. And we went out to dinner and it was actually nice. Then we got drunk at a party and kissed and probably did more. Then we just started having casual sex,” Harry even cringed at the thought – he’d never quite thought of himself as the type of person to do that, “but I want something else out of it. We actually enjoy each other’s company and even spent time together where we didn’t have sex.”

“Okay. What's the question?”

“I want this to become something more, but he keeps holding me at arm's length.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know. Maybe because he used to be a Death Eater-”

“Stop there, Potter. You’ve been seeing a former Death Eater in secret and you’re wondering why he doesn’t want to take it further?”

Draco’s voice indicated that the answer should be obvious, but Harry was drawing a blank. “Yes?”

“Merlin, you’re thick. Potter, you’re the most famous wizard in Britain, are you not?”

“Well-”

“And former Death Eaters aren’t exactly met with kindness these days, are they? I would know.”

“Yes, but-”

“He doesn’t see a future with you, Potter. You don’t think you can manage a secret relationship for any length of time, do you?”

“Well, I’ve tried to convince him to let us tell people-”

“Which is the exact opposite of what he wants! Fuck, Potter, I always knew you were selfish, but this is a little far, even for you.”

“How do you mean?”

“Put two and two together! Can you imagine what coming out as your boyfriend would do to him?! He’s already a social pariah! Do you want to make him the most hated person in all of Britain!?”

“It wouldn’t be like that!”

“Yes, it would! Trust me, Potter! What reason could you possibly have for wanting to put him through that? And to put you through that? Tell me, Potter! What reasoning do you have for being so selfish!?”

“I think I love him!”

Oh Merlin.

“I’m sorry to interrupt such an interesting argument with yourself, but I was wondering if you’d seen Neville.”

Harry picked his head up and narrowed his eyes at the blonde standing beside his table.

“Who won?” Luna asked without prompting.

Harry flushed. Had he been talking aloud? Who heard? As if reading his mind, Luna added, “no one heard you. I could just tell from your face that you were feeling conflicted.” She slid into the seat across from him. Thankfully, the Leaky Cauldron was nearly empty at this time, though he was surprised to see Luna here. She was not one of its usual patrons. “What was it about?” She asked, forgetting her previous query about Neville.

Harry opened his mouth, wondering how much he could tell Luna, if anything. He looked at her wide-eyed gaze and her small, expectant smile and sighed. If he was going to share anything with anyone, Luna was probably a good choice. She was good at keeping secrets because she scarcely seemed to remember them. She was a little removed from his life so she couldn’t go around making guesses. And, honestly, she wouldn’t. She wasn’t shrewd or invasive like Hermione. “I’ve been seeing someone in secret.”

Luna just watched him and waited for him to elaborate.

“And, um, he doesn’t want to let our relationship go public. But I do. He doesn’t want to move things forward. I do.”

“If you want different things, why are you together?” Luna asked curiously.

“Well, I…” Harry took a deep breath and looked down at the wood of the table, not letting the words come to his lips.

“Do you love him?”

Harry looked up at her and didn’t answer.

“Well, then maybe you should show him that moving forward isn’t so bad.”

“What do you mean?”

“I don’t know,” Luna shrugged. “It’s like swimming in a lake. Sometimes it’s better to dip your feet than jump right in.”

Harry considered her words for a few moments, stood, and kissed the top of her head. “Thanks, Luna,” he said quietly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Actually, my life went to shit. And it still is, so I don't know when to promise more chapters. But I'm working on this fic as a nice little distraction when I have free moments.


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